For a Little While
by Mytay
Summary: Sequel to That Bit in the Middle. Puck and Quinn are losing themselves to baby and family issues, spiraling downwards, but there's no way that any of the gleeks - especially Mercedes, Kurt and Finn - are going to let them go it alone.
1. Chapter 1

**For a Little While**

**By: **Mytay

**Rating:** T (for some grown-up issues and Puck's inability to keep it nice for the censors :P)

**Summary:** Sequel to _That Bit in the Middle_. Puck and Quinn are losing themselves to baby and family issues, spiraling downwards, but there's no way that any of the gleeks (especially Mercedes, Kurt and Finn) are going to let them go it alone.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own, anything Glee related. The song _It Only Hurts For A Little While _(which shall by used throughout this story) has many versions, but I believe the original one belongs to The Ames Brothers.

**Notes: **If you don't want to go back and read _That Bit in the Middle_, you don't have to; just assume any references to things that _didn't _happen in the show, happened in that story :P

**Warnings: **There will be mentions of alcoholism and dealing with that – if this is a sore point for anybody reading, I'm sorry. There is also some dealing with the loss of a baby (I think giving up a child for adoption counts as a loss).

Apologies for the long notes above – on with the story!

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 1**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Quinn Fabray was picking up garbage. It was disgusting and it was embarrassing, but she did it because no one else would. No one was going to pick up after her anymore.

Her summer, and pretty much the entire past year, had been a lesson in firsts and 'never-thought-this-would-happen'. Some of it had been good, a lot of it had been . . . not so great. Had downright sucked, in fact. But the good that she got from it all wouldn't have happened without the bad, so she tried to look at it from a more positive, mature perspective.

Quinn had come home in the early afternoon, after a morning spent running errands and a quick lunch with Tina and Artie, who she had been texting periodically throughout her grocery trip. She'd had fun with them; Tina had been telling some pretty unbelievable tales about Kurt, Rachel and their ongoing war at the community centre theatre . Her imitations of the epic throw downs had Quinn and Artie almost crying from laughter. The only reason why Quinn didn't call bull on Tina's stories was because she heard the same ones from Kurt – she was probably going to be getting an earful more of them later that night.

When she came through the door, groceries in hand, it had been to a quiet apartment. Quinn had gone to the kitchen to start unloading the food and seen the garbage on its side, spilling its contents all over the floor. After shoving everything that could spoil in the fridge, she'd slipped on some gloves and began cleaning up.

She made a face at something that may have at one point been a half-eaten sandwich. She'd have to wash the kitchen floor after this.

Quinn didn't mind living in an apartment for the summer while the house was completely overhauled and redecorated (something her mom insisted on doing – she wanted a fresh start, and re-doing the house and getting a job was her way of beginning anew, Quinn supposed). It was a nice apartment – not too small, comfortable and . . . clean.

"Hey, Quinnie – oh, what's . . . oh, I'm must've knocked that over last night, and I was so tired that . . . here, let me help you." Her mom bent over and in no time at all, the mess was back in the trash bin, and they were both sort of smiling at each other. Her mother was still in her dressing gown, but it was her day off from work, so Quinn couldn't blame her. The fact that she was just getting out of bed at almost one thirty in the afternoon – well, she'd been having a lot of late nights at the accounting firm. It was only natural she sleep in after that.

Her mom pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before clapping her hands suddenly. "Oh, I almost forgot! I left you some great steak in the fridge – Mallory cooked it up and passed it along to me – it's amazing, you should have some for lunch."

"Sure mom, sounds good." Quinn didn't mention that she'd eaten with Tina and Artie, but what was the harm? She'd save it for tomorrow's lunch. Tonight she was going out with Mercedes, Kurt and Brittany for dinner. She couldn't wait – Kurt said their dinner location was going to be a surprise – Quinn was going to head over to Mercedes' first in order to pick out some Kurt-approved clothes so he wouldn't be ashamed to be seen with them.

Her phone vibrated loudly on the counter, its shrieking, AC/DC ringtone echoing sharply about the quiet apartment. Her mom grimaced, a hand fluttering to her head, but she smiled brilliantly at Quinn after a second. "Go on, sweetie – and if it's anyone I know, give them my love. I think I'm gonna fix up something for myself. Ugh, and I'll deal with this floor later."

Quinn nodded, answering mid-guitar riff. "Hello, Puck." He'd chosen the ringtone that would announce him himself, and even though Quinn wasn't a huge fan, she'd let him do it. Besides, it was growing on her, the song; she'd have to ask Puck if he was willing to lend her an album or two.

"I'm coming to get you – I want you to see where I've been hanging, since you've been nagging me about it so much. See you in five." And he hung up. Quinn rolled her eyes at the phone; typical, self-absorbed, oblivious _boy._

She glanced over at her mother, who was brewing up a huge pot of coffee and was putting away the rest of the food while humming to herself.

"I'm going to go out with Puck, I'm not too sure if I'm going to come back here or just head straight to Mercedes' house. I have that dinner with her tonight." She began to gather up her purse.

Her mother frowned. "You know how I feel about that boy, Quinn."

"I know, mom, but that doesn't change who he is. He's the guy who I . . . had a baby with, and we're both kinda . . . we kinda need each other, right now – trust me, I will not be making the same mistake twice."

Her mom studied her with bleary eyes before exhaling loudly. "Okay. I trust you, sweetie. You've gotten to be so grown-up, and I know that's mostly mine and your father's fault but I'm still so proud of you. You do know that, right?"

Quinn smiled widely. "Yeah, mom, I love you. I'll keep my phone on, okay?"

"Love you, too, sweetie." Her mom came over to hug her once, tightly. Quinn hugged her back – she'd been so determined, when this whole thing started, not to forgive her parents, ever. She was pretty sure she would never be able to talk to her dad again, or think of him without getting angry, feeling her heart clench and eyes sting. But her mom . . . the woman had apologized over and over, admitted that most of it was her fault and Quinn . . . she wanted her mommy, like any little girl would. Except that she wasn't a little girl anymore – far from it.

She broke away from her mom, opening her mouth, wanting to say 'take care of yourself and please, no Irish coffee when you've just woken up' but she didn't – she was still the daughter, a little wiser though she might be. Her mom could take care of herself.

Quinn smiled and turned to leave, heading down the stairs of the apartment complex, hearing the rumbling whine of Puck's engine. If her ears picked up on the squeaky creaking of the door to the liquor cabinet and the sound of glass clinking . . . well, she may have just been hearing things.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Quinn sat in Puck's truck, looking up and down the street, feeling antsy and nervous. He was the complete opposite – calm, cool, and it was such a fake, such a front, that she was considering calling him out on it. She didn't want to be here, and she didn't want _him _here either. This was not what she needed, not now, not ever. Not when she was already feeling so breakable.

"God, Puck, why are you doing this to yourself? To me?"

Puck didn't look at her all, just kept shifting his eyes up and down the street, hunching down a little, and keeping that indifferent look on his face. Quinn felt a bit like slapping it off. But another part of her wanted to hug him because she knew exactly what was going on beneath the stupid macho façade.

"Aren't you curious? Don't you wanna know how she's doin'?"

"Every single day, you know that, we've talked about this – but what you're doing, Puck –"

"Just," his voice cracked, but he hardly flinched, "listen – we handed her off. They told us Ms. Corcoran was a good lady. And Schue vouched for her, and she's Rachel's mom, so we know she's probably crazy talented, and our kid is . . . cool – she's half a cheerleader, half a jock, and bein' raised by a kick ass Glee coach. She's going to be awesome."

Quinn nodded along to all of this and, unlike Puck, she kept her gaze fixed firmly within the truck, not on the street. "Okay – so if things are so great, then why do you keep doing this to yourself? Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

"I'm not here to talk, Quinn," he gritted out. "There's nothin' to talk about. I just . . . look, look at her!"

Quinn felt tears spring into her eyes, but she did as she was told. She turned to look out her window and there, walking down the street, pushing a stroller, was Ms. Corcoran. And Beth, almost completely hidden by blankets and dangling toys . . . but Quinn spotted a tiny hand waving in the air and that was enough.

"Puck," she gasped out, the tears pouring out uncontrollably, the saltiness reaching the corner of her mouth, her upper lip. "_Noah_, please, get me out of here, I can't do this, not now. Maybe not ever."

"But Quinn –"

"No! _Please_." She was sobbing. "Please, let's . . . let's just go, _please!_"

He looked at her and for a split second, the mask cracked. He was desperate – desperate for someone to understand without him saying the words, desperate for someone to help him deal with whatever was going on inside him. But Quinn didn't know how to be that person. Not when everything around her had fallen apart.

She'd thought things would slide right back into place once her baby was gone – that she and her mom could start over, and that she could forget about all this sadness and pain – but if anything, the world was a new place; too bright, too real, too sharp for her. She saw the same realization in Puck's hurt eyes, and she hated so much that she understood it.

Quinn didn't want to be a grown up anymore.

"Take me to Mercedes' house now, Puck."

Then the mask slipped back into place, the key was in the ignition, and they were gone.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The thing was, Quinn and Puck had been talking non-stop right since Beth was born. They talked about what a gorgeous baby they made, how the boys would be all over her when she grew up, but how she would be badass, like her father, and totally fend them off. They imagined her growing up to be a doctor, a teacher and even a singer (Quinn liked to think she would be a cross-over artist – singer and actress, whereas Puck preferred front woman in a non-selling out rock band).

But they didn't talk about what it did to them, how they felt watching her be put in another woman's arms. They didn't talk about how much they missed her even though they had only known her for a few hours (and nine months, kinda-sorta).

"And that's your problem, Lady Fab," Mercedes said gently, combing through Quinn's hair again, gathering it up into clips as she spoke. "You guys aren't actually talkin' about what's bothering you. And all this wishing and imagining – I guess you can't help it, but it isn't helping. Not unless you talk about the real stuff too."

"Mercedes, this is _Puck_," Quinn stated plainly. "He's not the talking kind. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to communicate without losing it halfway through and deciding he needed to punch something to orient himself."

"Okay, forget about Puck for a bit – let's talk about you." Mercedes held out a hand over Quinn's shoulder. Quinn dug around the array of clips and hair ties lying on the carpet next to her, and passed a few matching pins up to Mercedes, who was sitting on her bed.

There was quiet and Quinn closed her eyes, enjoying the soft, capable hands playing with her hair.

"Quinn? That was your cue – gimme something to work with here." Mercedes nudged her side with a foot.

She tilted her head a little in response. "I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"Well, tell me something you haven't told Puck."

Quinn frowned. "I . . . I . . . I don't know, it's . . . hard to put into words."

Hands came around to grasp her chin, turning her head so Mercedes could continue doing her hair. Again, there were no words. Quinn tried to find something to say, but she wasn't even sure she _wanted _to say anything. Mercedes was being great, and Quinn honestly thought that she would never have gotten through the last couple of months of her pregnancy if it hadn't been for her.

But she didn't think _anybody_ could understand what she was going through right now.

"It . . . it hurts, that's the only thing I can tell you. It hurts, it feels like there's something missing – something that was ripped out of me, and . . . I can't get it back."

Mercedes stopped what she was doing and slid off her bed, down next to Quinn. She grasped her hand, and waited until Quinn was willing to face her. When she did, she found a warm smile and bright eyes waiting for her. "Look, I can't pretend to know what you're goin' through, or even offer you advice on how to deal. But people hurt all the time, people have things happen to them that they didn't plan, or didn't want. But they figure out how to move on, sooner or later. Eventually, they _can_ deal."

"_It only hurts for a little while,_" Quinn half-spoke, half-sang, with a sad smile.

"What song was that?"

Quinn shrugged. "Not sure. My mom had a ton of Anne Murray records and stuff – and I remember that song. She . . . she still hums it, around the apartment."

Especially if she'd had a few drinks, but she wasn't going to say that.

She'd hummed it while Quinn cried after finally telling her about Puck – that Finn hadn't been the actual father. She told her mom the whole, horrible story, and her mom had cried for a few moments herself, and then put the blame squarely on her own shoulders: if she had been around, open enough for Quinn to talk to, then Quinn wouldn't have felt the need to lie not only to her parents, but to that 'sweet boy'. Quinn had burst into tears soon after, and her mother held her close, half-humming, half-singing that song into her ear. Then they'd both cleaned themselves up, smiled those brittle smiles that they seemed to use far too often.

Quinn had gone to bed, and pretended not to hear the rattling of another glass of scotch being poured.

She jerked back to the present, though the song was still playing on an endless loop in her head, as Mercedes reached over to twirl a blonde strand of hair around her index finger, letting it bounce back to frame Quinn's face. Then she grinned. "All right, enough angsting for now. Kurt will be here any minute, and he says Brittany's coming with him."

Quinn pushed the pain and confusion back into its appropriate box, way in the furthest, darkest corner of her mind, and let a smile spread across her face. "Brittany, huh?"

Mercedes raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. I know. You think Kurt's figured it out yet?"

Quinn unfolded her legs, wincing as pins and needles shot through them. She stood up, wobbling a bit. "Are you kidding? He's so caught up in that play with Rachel and everything else that I don't think he'll notice 'til Britt's got him backed into a corner with her tongue down his throat."

The diva snorted, holding up two purses. "I just hope we're there when she finally cracks and just jumps him. I keep my camera with me all the time – just in case."

Quinn laughed loudly and picked the green and turquoise purse for her friend – it matched brilliantly with Mercedes' gorgeous, shimmery off-the-shoulder purple shirt and jean pencil skirt.

"How come she hasn't just . . . kissed him or asked him to 'hit this'?" Quinn wondered. "I mean, that's how she usually operates."

"Oh, she has – but Kurt thought she was just happy to have him back, and safe, so he just told her 'thanks but no thanks.' I think _she _thinks he's playing hard to get, so she's trying to _seduce _him and stuff. It's great, 'cause Kurt just chalks it up to Brittany being Brittany."

"Are we bad friends for not warning him?" Quinn was trying to hold back a smirk.

Mercedes gave her a look. "If he's dense enough _not _to pick up on this, he totally deserves what he gets. And Brittany is not gonna take it personally – she's only in it for the kisses, trust me, there's no actual love or whatever. I double-checked with Santana. Brittany always has a pet-project or two for the summer, and it looks like this time, it's Kurt."

Quinn nodded, pursing her lips. "Awesome – then I'm totally carrying my camera around too."

She ran a hand down her own dark green top and black jean skirt; Mercedes tossed her a black and violet purse with rhinestones that matched Quinn's long and dangling earrings. Then the blonde was dragged over to Mercedes' mirror – she could barely see their reflection due to the scarves, pictures and glitter decorating it, but she saw enough to know that they both looked Hummel-fabulous.

"Hm, Kurt's definitely not gonna have anything to bitch us out about this time," Quinn said approvingly. "Though I still say our matching peasant tops were awesome. I can't believe he called us renaissance fair rejects."

"Hmm, whatever." Mercedes jammed one of her signature hats onto her head. "My boy may be the most fashionable thing in Ohio, but that doesn't mean he's the God of All Things In Season. Do you remember that T-shirt with that horrible print that looked like –"

Mercedes couldn't even finish the sentence – she made a disgusted sound, and Quinn cracked up, because she couldn't help it. Mercedes and Kurt really were two peas in a highly divalicious pod.

Mercedes' phone buzzed on her bed, and the girl reached over to snatch it. "That's probably him. Let's head on out."

They ran downstairs, giggling and shoving the entire time, yelling goodbyes to Mercedes' parents, who waved and shouted goodbyes back. When they walked out the front door, they paused in order to strike a pose. The windows of the SUV parked on the curb rolled down and Kurt stuck his head out, whistling. "Those are my girls! I am duly impressed. You may enter the vehicle!"

Mercedes and Quinn grinned at each other as they flounced down towards Kurt and Brittany. The slid into the back of the SUV and Brittany turned to smile at them as they pulled on their seat belts. "Hi! You look nice. Kurt says I'm not allowed to complain about the food anymore."

"That's right, because the restaurant I'm taking you guys to is above reproach – and because it was an unseemly habit."

Brittany nodded along to all of this, though Quinn was fairly certain she understood almost nothing. "You're _so_ right, Kurt." And Quinn had to bite the inside of her cheek as she watched a hand sneak onto Kurt's thigh – which immediately jerked out from underneath the probing fingers.

"I often am – did you need something, Britt?"

"No." Brittany seemed to be holding back a sigh. She pouted and crossed her arms, tossing her hair in annoyance.

Quinn tried to keep the insane grin off her face, but judging from Mercedes' answering mirth-filled expression, she probably hadn't succeeded.

Kurt let them fight over his iPod, and when Mercedes won, she graciously allowed Brittany and Quinn to pick some songs to throw into the playlist she was making, and then let it all blast from Kurt's unbelievable sound system. Kurt was laughing as they screamed excitedly as the first song came on, acting totally obnoxious, rolling the windows down and singing out onto the streets.

When a quieter song filtered its way through the speakers, Mercedes stopped singing long enough to ask Kurt, "So, how's it going with the rugrats and the play?" Quinn perked up, her grin widening.

Kurt groaned. "Don't even get me started! I've succeeded in taking over the wardrobe department – and were those girls every grateful. They're just middle schoolers, about to be freshman in September, and Rachel had them working like sweat shop employees in the tiny backroom. But she still has the props department and the sound crew under her belt."

"I still don't get how this works – I thought she made you co-director?" Quinn loved this – hearing Kurt rant about Rachel was one of the most entertaining things ever. It was amazing what had come out of his nine hours of zero contact and all of them worrying themselves to bits over him – Rachel making him a 'partner' in the play she'd volunteered to direct at the community centre was one such amazing thing.

"Yes she did, the little charlatan! Too bad it was only in name! But I've got her now! All I need is to get Charlie, the stage manager, on my side, and I officially match her in power! Tina's in charge of lighting, and has been playing Switzerland this whole time, but she'll take my side over Rachel's if push comes to shove – which it has. That damn Berry'll have to listen to my advice on staging and vocal arrangements now! Not to mention choreography!"

"This sounds like a really weird war, that uses make-up and stage props instead of weapons of mass destruction," Mercedes said, sounding just as deeply amused as Quinn. Tina had not been exaggerating one bit at lunch earlier – Quinn debated dropping by the theatre one of these days just to witness the epic battles herself. Maybe help Kurt get one up over Rachel.

"I feel bad for those poor kids," Quinn pondered out loud. "Isn't the oldest actor like, thirteen?"

"Fourteen," Kurt offered. "And they're fine – Rachel and I make sure to keep them away from the bloodier battles."

Quinn mouthed the word 'bloodier?' to Mercedes, who just shrugged, leaning in closer to Kurt. "What about that guy and his wife who run the whole program – they're adults, so why don't you just –"

"Have I not told you guys time and time again that Rachel has them convinced she has everything under control? Plus, I'm pretty sure they're scared of being in the same room as her for longer than ten minutes at a time." Kurt growled, which had both Mercedes and Quinn snorting and holding back laughter because _growling_? _So_ not something Kurt could do convincingly, incredible vocal range or not.

Then some more Lady Gaga came on, and everyone forgot to ask Kurt about his other summer responsibilities. It seemed like every day there were new stories – from the crazy routines Santana was teaching him, topped only by the insane routines Mike and Matt were choreographing, to the million and one paint and fabric samples scattered around the house as Finn and Kurt decided the theme of Finn's room, and Puck's complete and utter inability to understand anything about cars (though Kurt maintained that he would have the jock taught if it took him the next _ten_ summers – he could not, he claimed, abide by such ignorance).

"We're here!" Kurt announced. "And please, everyone keep their wallets closed – this is my treat!"

Mercedes scoffed, probably ready to tear Kurt a new one, but as soon as she caught a glimpse of the restaurant name, her jaw dropped. Quinn blinked – she hadn't been to this place in years, but she remembered the fantastic food, the gorgeous décor . . . and the proud look on her father's face as she ordered for herself for the first time. A sharp pang resounded deep within her, but she smiled for Kurt, for her friends, because they didn't need to be weighed down by yet more of her baggage tonight.

They walked in, giggling nervously as a waiter took them directly to their table almost immediately, marvelously set with real lace and beautiful flowers.

"Kurt, honey, I know you ain't hurting for cash . . . but this –"

Kurt put a hand on Mercedes arm. "Hey, relax, this restaurant . . . my mom used to be the manager here, and . . . let's just say I get a special discount from the owner, okay? So, don't worry about a thing."

Quinn felt her mouth dropping. "Seriously?"

Kurt smiled. "Yeah. My mom . . . she did a lot of things, all around town. She worked here a few years before I was born."

Mercedes was sending Quinn warning looks from across the table, and Quinn took heed, dropping the subject. This was meant to be a fun night – no need to bring up lost mothers. Or anyone's mother, actually.

The evening was spent laughing and making up sordid stories for all the faux-rich and old money sitting around them – lots of lost heirs, drunken exploits and affairs. They got a few dirty looks tossed their way, but they just smiled at everyone in response and kept right on having fun writing their own soap opera. At one point her purse started rumbling, startling her and making Kurt and Mercedes laugh as she sheepishly reached into it, pulling out her phone. She bit her lip when she saw the number. She answered it, giving her friends an apologetic look. "Sorry – hi mom."

"Quinnie! Where are you, sweetie? It's getting late!"

"I told you I was going out to dinner with my friends," Quinn explained patiently. "And that I might be back late. We're still at the restaurant."

"Oh. Well, you know I trust you, Quinn, I just . . . wanted to make sure you were okay! Is darling Mercedes with you?"

"Yes, mom. And Brittany, and Kurt."

"Kurt? Oh, right, that adorable boy . . . Quinn, are you sure you're okay?" She sounded hazy and a little . . . tipsy. Quinn bit her lip. "Did you want to speak with Mercedes?" She looked towards the girl, knowing her own expression was probably pained, and Mercedes stretched out a hand for the phone.

"Hi Mrs. Fabray," Mercedes said cheerfully, belying the seriousness on her face. "Yeah, we're still at the restaurant. We're just finishing off dessert, so we'll be dropping Quinn off soon . . . Yeah, you too. Bye."

Mercedes hung up, staring at Quinn with far too much scrutiny, and Kurt was raising an eyebrow. Quinn had no idea what to say to anything they might ask her, so she quickly turned to Brittany, asking the girl what she thought about Mike and Matt's routines for Cheerios.

Brittany smiled happily, and proceeded to give them a blow-by-blow account of the latest in Cheerios' practise, which Kurt eventually joined in the telling of. He had them crying tears of laughter when he told them about his first Sue Sylvester spot check, the morning after his little disappearing act. His second visit went far better – he got wind of her from a neighbour down the street, so he was actually in his Cheerio's uniform when she banged on his door, all stretched and ready to go.

The night passed without any further drama, but Quinn knew it couldn't last – especially when they dropped Brittany off first, even though Quinn's apartment was closer to the restaurant. Kurt remained parked in front of Brittany's house, turning in sync with Mercedes, and they both waited patiently for Quinn to say something – which she refused to. But Kurt and Mercedes wouldn't back down. The staring contest continued on.

"_What?_" she finally asked, with a bit of snap to her tone.

Mercedes sighed. "C'mon, Quinn, don't be like that – we know something ain't right and we want to help."

"How?" Quinn tried to keep the fight out of her voice. "How could you guys help me? You know what's wrong with me, Mercedes – I thought you said giving it time and talking about it was all I could do?"

"For dealing with losing your baby." Kurt unbuckled his seatbelt so he could face her fully. "But not with whatever's going on with your mom."

Quinn opened her mouth, trying to play it off, but all that came out were a few incoherent sounds. She pressed her lips together, crossed her arms, and tried again. "Look, it's nothing I can't handle. We're both a little messed right now. She left my dad and she's trying to make up for not being there for me, but there's some fallout to deal with first, okay?"

Kurt nodded. "Yeah, but listen . . . you're the daughter – you're not suppose to be taking this much on yourself. Maybe she needs to straighten herself out first and then you two can try and fix your relationship."

"So, what, you're suggesting I abandon her?" Quinn asked incredulously.

"Quinn, listen!" Mercedes snapped back at her. "You can be there for her, but you're not suppose to be telling her everything's okay when it's _not_ – or pretending that nothing's wrong 'cause you think that's what she needs. You _need_ to tell her that it's okay for her to get help, and she _needs_ to do it herself! Quinn, your mom has a _drinking problem. _And I know you know that. If _I've_ noticed it, than you definitely have."

Mercedes' words were hitting her hard, right in all her soft spots, but Quinn had been Queen Bitch before Santana, and she knew how to give back as good as she got. She squared her shoulders, narrowed her eyes, and prepped to give them a verbal tongue-lashing like nothing they'd ever experienced before.

Kurt crawled out from the driver's seat, managing to get himself seated next to her in a matter of seconds, grabbing her hands and bringing them up to his chest before she could even begin to formulate her insults. "Quinn, we love you so much, and it's _killing _us to watch you like this. You're putting up a front with your friends, you're putting up one with your mom – this has to _stop. _Please." Kurt's eyes were gleaming.

Quinn tried to get her bitchy mojo back, but it was gone – Kurt's watery eyed expression rendered her helpless again. She felt tears of her own begin to prick at the corners of her eyes.

"You don't understand. The whole time I was pregnant with Beth, I wanted my mom. I needed her so bad – needed her to hold me and give me advice and tell me she still loved me no matter what. But I didn't get that. Instead she started drinking more . . . even more than she normally did, and we barely talked because that's how we used to deal with problems in my house, okay? But now, now I _have _her. She's all mine, and she loves me, and she doesn't think I'm a whore or a disappointment. She wants to be there for me now, and she's honest with me . . . I can't give that up, I can't!"

A few tears escaped and she rubbed them away angrily. Kurt reached into his coat pocket, yanking out a handkerchief with a flourish that made her half-smile, and began gently pressing it against her cheeks, blotting carefully under her eyes.

"Oh honey," Mercedes breathed out. "Dontcha see you're fallin' back to the old way of doin' things? You and your mom, you're still not really talkin' 'bout things – you're pretty much just re-hashing what's already out there. And her drinking problem . . . it's only gonna get worse the longer you both ignore it."

Quinn stared at her lap for a long while, and then after an internal battle, she nodded haltingly.

She felt both Kurt and Mercedes breathe out sighs of relief and suddenly, the entire situation – with Kurt, with Brittany, with her mom, with Puck . . . it all hit her and she burst out laughing.

They stared at her as if she had lost her mind, and she tried to calm herself down enough to give her reason for the sudden bout of hysteria. "I'm sorry it's just . . . this is the second intervention we've had in a month, and it just seems . . . so weird . . . all year we've had to deal with insane crap, and now, on our vacation, we all crack? It's just . . . I know it's not that funny." She kept on laughing, belying her words. "I just . . . we're all so great at giving at advice to each other, and such morons with our own crap . . . I don't know." She shrugged helplessly, still trying to hold back yet more laughter.

But Kurt and Mercedes didn't make fun of her, they just smiled. Quinn's old friends would never have let this go – they would have called her crazy and . . . actually, they wouldn't even have gotten this far, talking about her problems as if they actually cared. Which they wouldn't have.

She wiped tears (of mirth this time) away, grabbing Kurt and pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head. Then she shared a sly look with Mercedes and gave him an even quicker one right on the lips, barely even a peck.

He jerked back a bit in surprise, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand like a disgusted little boy who'd just been kissed by a hated aunt, and Quinn and Mercedes were now both laughing their heads off.

"Okay – what the hell is going on now?" Kurt demanded – this time he was looking at them both as if they were in desperate need of a straight jacket or two.

Quinn shrugged, smiling happily. "Oh, nothing. Just practise."

"Practise?" Kurt said blankly. "I'm sorry, but that makes no sense to me."

"We know." Mercedes grinned. "But you're gonna need it."

Kurt stared some more before throwing his hands the air. "I give up. Apparently, being gay doesn't translate into understanding girls and their random bouts of insanity!"

This was so on the nose that Quinn and Mercedes were doubled over cackling while Kurt kept right on bitching and begging them to tell him what that whole thing was about.

They continued along in this vein until they reached Quinn's apartment complex. As they pulled up into the parking space that was just beneath her home, Kurt turned to her. "Look, I want you to come over tomorrow, at around lunch time. I'll feed you something both yummy and non-fattening, and we'll talk strategy, okay?"

Quinn was still feeling the high from a great night out with friends (mini-breakdown notwithstanding) and nodded. "Sure. I'll pick up Mercedes this time. It's my turn to be chauffeur."

"I hope you're not expecting a tip, especially considering the last time."

"I had to swerve!" Quinn protested. "I wasn't about to run over that little bunny!"

"Took years off my life _and _ruined a perfectly gorgeous silk shirt with spilled iced-coffee," Mercedes bitched, but she shot her a teasing side-glance.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I'll pick _you_ up at noon, and I'll see you guys tomorrow."

She hopped out the car, climbing the stairs up to her apartment, knowing that Kurt and Mercedes were waiting until she was safely inside. She opened the door and turned to wave over the railing of the balcony. They both waved back and then slowly pulled out.

Quinn tried to be quiet, closing the door behind her as silently as possible. A soft sound permeated the stillness, like a squeak, and Quinn squinted in the near pitch-darkness of the living room.

Then she just sighed.

Her mom was passed out cold on the couch. Quinn dropped her keys in the ashtray by the door, walking over and grabbing the nearest folded quilt off an armchair as she went. She unfurled it and let it drift down to cover her mother from shoulder to feet.

She stood there, staring for a moment or two, before heading off to bed. She passed by the kitchen and took solace in one thing: the floor was clean and smelled distinctly of lemon. That small act helped her find strength in the fact that tomorrow she was going to find a way to get both her and her mom back on track.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_It only hurts for a little while,_

_That's what they tell me, that's what they say._

_It only hurts for a little while_

_Then all your heartaches will pass away._

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Yeah, this is _long _and angsty_. _It was also really hard to write and even harder to edit/proofread. And I'm still not completely satisfied with it.

As usual, I lack confidence in my ability to write anyone other than Kurt and Burt – hopefully Quinn comes across as . . . well, _Quinn._

Next chapter we have some Puck-angst. Or, you know, as angsty as Puck can realistically get. I had a ton of fun writing him, so here's hoping that he's in character.

In advance, I'm gonna thank you guys for whatever you give me in terms of feedback, even if it's just the act of coming by to read! It is seriously encouraging, and it makes it a lot easier for me to write, especially when I'm unsure about how well I'm doing. Reading your comments is such great fuel for me. Thanks for stopping by!


	2. Chapter 2

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 2**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Puck knew that this was stupid. It was over and he should just move on, right? But the annoying thing was he couldn't; he just _could not _get the image of his baby girl out of his head. Beth had turned out so _perfect _and those hands had been so small, and those fingers had wrapped perfectly around his one. She'd squeezed him tighter than he figured a baby could, but this was _his _daughter; she could probably take on all the other wussy babies in that room. If babies could, like, fight and stuff . . . whatever.

Point being, those eyes had stared _right_ at him and he was lost.

He hadn't really thought much about what would happen after Quinn gave up the kid. A part of him had been relieved – because he would've done right by her, no lie, he wasn't his father (he _wasn't_), but it would've been so hard, and he probably would've still found a way to mess it all up. So, better that she was with someone less likely to be a fuck-up and already graduated from high school. But then Ms. Corcoran had walked away and he . . . he wanted to chase her down and say it was all mistake – that he and Quinn had changed their minds. He knew Quinn felt the same. She'd burst into tears the second Ms. Corcoran was out of sight.

Puck felt guilty because he had kinda _wanted _to give Beth away, and how didn't that make him like his dad – like someone who would walk away from their family?

He was an utter failure at everything he touched. His pool cleaning business was totally going down, because, well . . . a lot of the hot housewives in this town lived in more or less the same neighbourhood, or close to it. And who else happened to live in that same, nice neighbourhood? Beth and her new mommy.

He couldn't bang some cougar, knowing that his little daughter was down the street, or a few blocks over, or even just behind the house he was in. He _couldn't_ and how fucked up was that?

Then Ms. Corcoran had forgiven the debt he and Finn owed, and even though it was cool having the extra cash, he'd had to quit his job at Sheets N' Things, because so many things were already making him feel like crap; he didn't need those friggin' ugly smocks to put him in an even crappier mood.

Not to mention he was pretty sure Mr. Ryerson had tried to grab his butt. More than once.

So, now he was cleaning pools of non-cougar types – and it paid less since he didn't get tips for . . . extra labour. He was kind of working at Hummel's Tires and Lube, but only 'kinda'. Kurt was still teaching him about cars and engines, and it was pretty hard. But he liked doing that, at least. Even when Kurt got all huffy each time Puck forgot the name of some part or how it worked. It wasn't Puck's fault; it was hard to take the dude seriously when he had oil and grease spots all over his normally pristine face, and when he pouted, Kurt looked like he was about the same age as Puck's little sister – sometimes he had to stop himself from giving the guy a noogie like he did Sarah when she was getting on his nerves.

Not that he would _ever _do that with Mr. Hummel around. He was pretty sure that guy could brain him with a wrench and then keep right on working, stepping over Puck's bloody body without a thought. He probably wouldn't even stop to wash the wrench. The way he stared sometimes while Puck was working with Kurt – he would swear the man was reading his mind . . . which, _just for the record, sir, I would never hurt your son. Like, ever. Not even a noogie. And the lawn furniture thing wasn't my idea! _Puck was on the other side of town from the Hummels, but just in case Burt Hummel's mind reading powers were like, Jedi Master level crazy, he sent the thought out there.

He stared at Ms. Corcoran's house for a while before glancing at his wristwatch. It had been half an hour and he hadn't caught a glimpse of his girl or her adopted mother. She probably had put Beth down for a nap or something. It was time to head on out.

Quinn had come to see him that morning before he headed over to the garage and told him she wasn't going to allow him to drag her here again. And she warned him that what he was doing was not only unhealthy, but that someone was bound to notice the red, rusty pick-up truck that was parked in the same spot almost everyday for a substantial amount of time. Especially in a neighbourhood of housewives, half of which he had screwed at one point or another.

Puck had nodded like he was listening, which he had been, somewhat, and now he parked the truck somewhere different each time – and made sure it wasn't in front of the house of one of his ex-clients. He'd made that mistake once already, and it was a pretty uncomfortable one.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, answering it before it could even ring. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, dude, I know you just spent the morning at the garage, but you wanna come over and have some lunch? We can play Call of Duty when we're done. And maybe some Left for Dead."

Puck shrugged, and then realized Finn couldn't see that. "Uh, yeah, okay. I'll be there in twenty."

"Uh, better make it forty – I don't think your truck can take those speeds. Why don't you let Kurt fix it?"

"'Cause I told you – I wanna do it myself," Puck stated stubbornly, "And the fairy says I'm not ready yet."

"Hey," and Finn's voice became serious, "listen, watch it with those words, man. Kurt's my friend, and he's had to deal with enough of that crap at school – I've told you to cut it out. And I mean it."

Puck sighed heavily, but apologized – it was pathetic, but he really didn't want to mess up this thing with Finn. "Yeah, fine, dude. Sorry. I'll see ya in a bit."

"Cool. Bye."

Puck stared at his phone for a minute before pulling out and heading to the Hummel-Hudson household. The whole thing with Finn was weird. They weren't back to being best friends – he wasn't sure if they ever would be – but Finn was being surprisingly cool about everything.

It had taken Puck some time to get why Finn was so pissed off in the first place – yeah, he'd snaked his girlfriend, and that was totally against the bro-code, but he'd figured Finn had always understood his sex shark tendencies. He could get the being ticked part, but not why Finn held onto the grudge for as long as he did.

Now, he got it – at least a little – he got how . . . _wrong _the whole thing was. Quinn helped him understand some of it, just by being there for him, even when he was being, according to her, a total douche (which she had explained using some not-nice words he didn't even think she _knew_). Mercedes had helped him a little more, telling him how much she didn't like the dumpster-tossing jock he was (_used _to be). Then Finn, right after Beth . . . Puck remembered the conversation that he and Finn had had, word for word:

"_Dude." Finn looked at him, and Puck tried to look indifferent, but his baby had just been adopted, and he was still feeling a bit shocked – and traumatized – by the whole birthing experience. But mostly, he was tired and shaky, and . . . oh God, Beth. Beautiful, perfect Beth, who looked like Quinn, but he thought maybe she might have his eyes._

"_Puck." Finn nudged him lightly this time and Puck just stared back, not saying anything._

_Finn sighed heavily. "Listen. We're not best friends anymore, okay? I mean, sleeping with your best friend's girl, getting her pregnant, and then the whole letting me think it was mine –"_

_Puck wanted to point out that that last particular bit of nastiness was mostly Quinn's fault, but he didn't. If the situation had been reversed, he now realized that he would have still been ticked at Finn anyways – because Puck should have told Finn, regardless of Quinn's issues, because he and Finn were like brothers, once._

"_But . . . this is really messed up. And you look really messed up. And it just . . . I can be your friend, if you want. Just not your best friend. Not yet. Maybe never, I don't know. But for now . . ."_

_He slid a hand onto Puck's shoulder, and suddenly, Puck was staring at the floor, his daughter's small, pink face all he could see, besides the inexplicable blurring of his vision – oh shit, tears. He wiped at his eyes as subtly as he could before looking up at Finn._

_Finn gave him a smile. Puck tried to return it, but he knew it was half-assed. And that was it. No other words needed to be said._

He and Finn, they weren't not-_not _talking that last month school, but after Beth, Finn actually nodded 'hello' when he saw Puck, and they sorta smiled at each other over jokes and stuff. Before that, there had been nothing. No eye contact, no nods, no acknowledgement of _any _kind. Well, except for the slashing of the tires thing – which had been fun.

Now things were getting even better. Puck hadn't realized how much he missed the big idiot until Finn invited him over to shoot some hoops for the first time in _months. _Quinn had unfortunately witnessed his totally not-cool reaction to it.

As Puck turned onto the street that Finn and Kurt lived on, he noticed the gay kid's SUV parked in the driveway ('gay kid' was better than 'fairy', he figured, and hell, Kurt was doing him a solid with all the car crap he was teaching him, so he could try and do what Finn told him). That was weird – Kurt had been all over the place the past couple of weeks. Finn had mentioned that he barely saw the other boy any more.

Puck parked his truck in front of the house, walking up and giving the door a sharp rap. A few seconds later he was facing the wrench-wielding princess himself. The gay kid. Oh . . . fuck it, who cared what he called the boy inside his own head? Maybe he'd slip once or twice and say it out loud, but Kurt gave as good as he got anyway – plus, he and Hummel Jr. had an understanding. A mutual-insult sort of understanding.

Kurt gave him a raised eyebrow as greeting. "Puck. I heard your truck coming down the street. It's giving out its death throes."

"Yeah, well, it would be alive and kicking if you would just graduate me already and lemme try and fix it," he growled out as Kurt stood to one side, letting him in.

"You mean let you mangle it beyond recognition. Sorry, unfortunately I'm too nice a person to let you do that. And I would probably end up having to fix it myself afterward, which is entirely much more work than I'm willing to put into a piece of crap – especially considering I won't be getting paid for it anytime soon."

Puck scowled, but let Kurt have that round. The other boy headed towards the kitchen, picking up a mug of tea. "Look, I have Quinn and Mercedes coming over soon, so just head on over to Finn's room – he's already plugged in. Oh, and take those cookies with you – Carole baked them yesterday, and someone needs to eat them before I cave and break my 'one dessert a week' rule."

Puck snorted. "Cookies aren't dessert – they're a snack. Dessert is a triple layered chocolate cake with three pounds of icing on top and ice cream on the side." Yeah, his mom had baked one of those for his twelfth birthday and it had been_ heaven_. Kurt choked, eyes glazing over and Puck made a mental note to show up one day with a massive chocolate cake and ice cream – it would totally make his day to watch baby Hummel crack, pig out, and then bitch like a queen after. Heh.

He grabbed the plate of cookies, brushing against the Vogue magazine sitting on the table, knocking it off and revealing . . .

"Dude, I've never seen you take more than a sip of wine at dinner when your dad lets you – what the hell are you doing with so many flyers for AA?"

Kurt grabbed them all up, pressing them against his chest, glaring. "None of your business. Now go be a good boy and play."

But something about this was fishy, and Puck couldn't figure out what. He knew Mrs. Hudson and Mr. Hummel were clean – and Finn was a pussy when it came to drinking – so stupid for someone his size. Puck wracked his brains and . . . _oh_.

"It's for Quinn's mom, right?"

Kurt stared. "You know?"

"Well, yeah – I've been over once or twice, and I've seen her at it. I've never actually seen her get shitfaced though. I think she's pretty good at hiding it from Quinn – or at least keeping her from seeing her boozed up and puking." Puck watched Kurt's eyes widen.

"Allow me to clarify – you know and haven't tried to do anything?"

Puck stared right back. "What the hell am I suppose to do?"

Kurt sighed, glancing down at the pamphlets. "Yeah, never mind. I suppose it's too much to ask you to _think_, let alone to think outside the box."

Puck put down the cookies and crossed his arms over his chest. "Hey, Quinn's my friend too, _fairy_," and there it was, "But it isn't like I can throw her mom into rehab to dry out. Or tell Quinn to get the hell out of there. Her mom isn't too bad – and she isn't beating on her or even yelling. It's all apologies and love and tears."

"It's also Quinn taking on all the responsibilities of an adult – including trying to deal with the mess that was her pregnancy. Which you haven't been helping with, considering your own messed-upness," Kurt accused.

_What? _Puck blinked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about spying on Ms. Corcoran and your child, you Mountain of Moron," Kurt spat out. "You think dragging Quinn over there was a good idea? Do you think it helped her any? Is it helping _you_?"

Puck made an angry motion – he wasn't going to hit Kurt or anything, but the diva flinched as if he was. Puck clenched his jaw and stared at the wall, trying to figure out what exactly had him so pissed off at the other boy.

Which was when Finn walked into the kitchen, of course.

The tall teen glanced between his two friends, looking confused. He stepped up to Kurt, standing slightly in-between the two boys, and Puck felt even more annoyed. Because Finn was going to take Kurt's side no matter what, and it sucked.

"Is everything okay?"

Kurt looked around Finn, catching Puck's eye. "Yes, Finn. Puck is just frustrating me with his lack of memory skills – I was just explaining the function of the carburetor for the twentieth time. If you'll both excuse me, I'm going to head downstairs and prep things for my visitors."

He walked around Finn and Puck, not looking back.

Finn shrugged. "Sorry, man. I know you got enough of that this morning. Just . . . try and keep it together with him. He does like you, you know."

Puck snorted incredulously. "Right. Let's go blow shit up. I need me some carnage."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Shooting the crap out of little people on a screen seemed like a great idea – until Puck heard the front door opening and closing, and a few minutes after that, the sound of Mercedes and Quinn laughing.

Then Finn totally murdered him and kept right on massacring him until he paused the game, turning to Puck. "All right, tell me, what's going on?"

"Why? Keep playing." He tried to grab Finn's controller, but Finn just held it up out of reach. He could do that, the damn freakish Frankenteen.

"No way. I know something's wrong. Tell me what it is and we can go back to shooting Nazis."

Puck tossed his own controller onto the floor, next to the empty boxes of leftover Chinese and the crumb-filled plate that had once been full of cookies. "Man, can we just play? I do _not _do the _talking_ thing. Just ask your girlfriend – we barely stopped making out long enough to do anything else."

He knew it was low the second he said it, but Finn only looked angry for about a minute before turning off the TV and facing Puck, completely serious. "Fine. Just so you know, you're making me do this. You're going to tell me what the hell is going on. And let's start off with this: does it have something to do with Quinn? Or is it Beth? Or both?"

Puck glared, keeping his mouth shut. Finn rolled his eyes, and suddenly he was up in Puck's space, so close his nose brushed against Puck's, and _what the fuck? ! _Puck shoved Finn anyway and scrambled backwards all in the same movement. "Dude, what the hell!"

Finn gave him a mischievous grin. "You said you don't talk – you just make out. So either talk to me, or get with the making out."

"Man, living with the gay kid has messed you up!"

Finn retreated, allowing Puck the room to sit back up, Puck making sure to keep plenty of space between the two of them. "It's not a gay thing. But you're right, Kurt has taught me a lot about dealing with asshole jocks – he says they're all 'secretly terrified of people who are different, who cause them to constantly question their own masculinity and so feel the need to humiliate others to re-establish their identity'."

Puck stared. "Holy crap, that was scary. You win. Just . . . don't even think of trying that again and don't channel Kurt at me – it's bad enough there's _one_ of him around."

There was a long silence. Finn shut off both the TV and the console, and if trying to hug or kiss or whatever hadn't proved he was serious, that did. Puck glared at the floor accusingly, blaming Kurt, blaming Quinn, blaming the universe at large, before finally speaking. "I'm messed up dude. Beth's part of it, but . . . I think Quinn needs more from me than I can give her. I . . . sorta love her, you know." God, this was so pathetic. He was going to have to start going to his fight club twice a week to make up for it.

Finn said nothing, just sat quietly for a minute. Then, "I thought you guys weren't dating."

"We're not." He really hated how depressed-sounding that came out. "I mean, we tried, but there's no action . . . and there's only really one thing that we talk about anymore. And Quinn . . . she's the one who sorta broke it off, 'cause she's dealing with more than I am. I mean, Beth is one thing, but Quinn doesn't have . . . she lost her family, dude. And that . . . that was partially my fault, you know? And now she's dealing with this crap from her mom and . . ."

"What crap?" Finn asked abruptly. "Is she okay? Is everything all right – there isn't any –"

"Nah, man, she isn't getting abused on or anything it's just . . .," Puck let out a breath. "We're trying to deal with adult shit, and it's like a crash course in it. I feel crappy for giving up Beth, but at the same time, like, I know if we kept her, we'd've screwed it up somehow. But that doesn't stop me – stop us – from missing her like crazy and wanting her with us. For us to be a family."

Finn didn't say anything this time, just gestured at Puck to continue. Puck rolled his eyes, glowering, but he did keep on talking – now that he'd started it, he couldn't stop. "And Quinn's mom is messed up too. She's drinking, and it isn't as bad as it could be . . . but it's still pretty bad. And too much on top of everything else. Kurt and Mercedes are trying to help her out."

Finn considered this for a while, and Puck shifted uncomfortably, waiting for . . . he didn't know what, he just knew he wanted this touchy-feely talking crap to end.

"Well, Quinn's stuff isn't your fault – it's her stupid dad's fault. And whatever's goin' on with her mom . . . if Mercedes and Kurt are trying to do something about it, it'll get fixed, no doubt about it . . . But about Beth . . . dude, you haven't talked to me about her either . . . I think this is the first time you've ever told me that you miss her."

Puck clenched his jaw, glaring at the floor again. "It isn't weird – to miss my daughter. I didn't want to talk about this with you 'cause of the whole . . . you thinkin' she was yours thing . . ."

Finn looked up at the ceiling for a bit. "Yeah, well . . . that was pretty friggin' messed, not gonna lie. But you're her real father, and it makes sense to miss her, man. You did right by her – putting her up for adoption."

"I know I did," Puck ground out. "That isn't the point."

Finn cocked his head. "So what is?"

_I miss her, I want her. I want to know how she's doing at every Goddamned second of the day. I want to watch her walk for the first time, hear her talk for the first time, and I wanna put her drawings on my fridge and drive her school. I wanna chase off any stupid-ass boys with mohawks and cases of wine coolers . . ._

Puck rubbed at his temples. "I'm done, dude, it's over . . . there's nothing I can do about it – so let's just drop it, okay? Good. Now turn the damn game back on."

Finn took in a deep breath, ignoring Puck and staring at the controller in his hand. "I gave my mom all the money I saved for . . . for Beth."

Puck turned slowly, eyes narrowing. "What?"

"I had all this money saved, you know, for the baby I thought was mine. And after . . . all that crap happened, I just . . . I didn't want it – I didn't want to spend it, didn't want to even know about it. So I gave it to my mom, and she . . . I don't know, but I figure she probably added it to my college fund or something."

Puck wasn't sure what the point of all this was (other than to make him feel like complete and utter scum . . . again), so he just watched as Finn began putting the Xbox 360 away.

"Once I calmed down enough not to want to beat your face in every time I saw you, I was thinking . . . maybe after she was born . . . I would write you and Quinn a check . . . have that be my, I don't know, baby shower gift."

Puck _really _felt like a douchebag now. Seriously, it was such a _pain, _this newfound awareness of his. He inwardly cursed Quinn, Mercedes and Finn for bringing out his own personal Jiminy Cricket from whatever rock he was hiding under because _shit, _it sucked to feel this guilty.

"After Beth was gone . . . I just felt . . . cheated, I guess. Like I hadn't realized it, but I'd been imagining the look on your face when I gave you that check, and then being around to watch you and Quinn change diapers and stuff, and being all grossed out, and having Beth with us for Glee practise and . . ." Finn stopped here, finally looking at him. "I wasn't the only one planning and imagining. I think Kurt was designing, like, a whole wardrobe for her."

Puck felt a little awestruck now – _holy crap, was this for real?_

"I get it, Puck, I think I get it more than the others do . . . because I thought Beth was mine . . . and then you and Quinn took that away from me. And then after . . . I thought maybe I could be a cool uncle or something, and that got taken away too . . . I just . . . I know how much it sucks, how it hurts – I know you're still thinking about her growing up, without you around. Maybe it still doesn't come close to what you're feeling – 'cause you're actually her dad, and you actually got to hold her and love her before she was taken away but . . . dude, I get some of it, and I'm telling you – the pain, it gets easier to deal with."

Puck didn't know what to do with everything Finn had just thrown at him. He felt a bit disoriented and . . . God, was his chest hurting? _What the hell?_

"Finn – look, man, I appreciate what you're saying –"

"It still hurts Puck, but maybe you just need to wait, for a little while – eventually it won't hurt as much, and then maybe you can start to . . . let it go?"

Right there, _right there_ was where Finn lost him, because Puck couldn't imagine _ever _being able to 'let this go'. But Puck wasn't going to tell Finn that – and he really did appreciate everything Finn was telling him, even if it made him feel like the worst asshole in the entire universe for how he treated him before. Like, second only to Hitler. Or maybe third – had to throw Stalin in there too . . . and Jack the Ripper . . . and that douche that cheated on Sandra Bullock_ – _because if Puck had _Sandra Bullock_ (his secret celebrity crush since he hid behind the couch _years _ago to watch _While You Were Sleeping_ without his mom knowing) Puck wouldn't even need to try to make monogamy happen.

Wait, where was he? Oh right – Finn was treating him way better than a fifth place asshole like him deserved.

"Thanks, Finn," Puck said finally, and left it at that.

Finn clapped a hand onto his shoulder. "Anytime, dude. Now, let's go see what Kurt, Mercedes and Quinn are up to – and if we can help or something. I didn't know things were that bad with Quinn."

Puck nodded at that, even though he really didn't feel up to much of anything right now.

What if they were doing stuff like painting each other's nails or . . . having a naked pillow fight? Which, on any other occasion, would be awesome, but Fairy Princess Hummel was down there, and that was so not something he wanted to see. Unless . . . wait, not _ever. _Puck took a mental rolled-up newspaper to his horndog tendencies – damn it, this was what happened when he hadn't been laid in a while – the hot make out session with Clara (Chandra? Cara?) the cashier at Sheet's 'N Things, and the blowjob from that waitress at Breadstix (Melissa? Mara?) _so_ did not count. Plus, those two had been near the beginning of the summer and nothing had been going down since then.

When they made it down to the basement (after Finn knocked to make sure that they weren't having that naked pillow fight), Mercedes, Quinn and Kurt were sitting on the floor, surrounded by the pamphlets Puck had seen earlier.

Quinn quickly wiped at her eyes, but they were red-rimmed and gleaming.

"Uh, sorry," Puck said without thinking, but inwardly it surprised him – because he really meant it.

Quinn smiled. "What for? You haven't done anything particularly stupid or jackass-ish recently, that I haven't already reamed you out for."

"Sorry . . . it's a sorry for . . . not being a good friend and stuff." He held back a glare when Kurt raised an eyebrow, a smug look on his pale face. "I knew your mom wasn't . . . okay, and I should've tried to talk to you about it . . . so yeah."

Quinn looked at Kurt, who quickly schooled his expression into one of innocence (which with his wide, wide blue eyes and little boy looks, made it damn easy . . . stupid gay-kid). She rolled her eyes at them both, but her smile became a touch warmer. "Don't worry about it, Puck. We've all got problems – and you and I have one in common. I figure one set of baggage for each friend will tide us over nicely."

Finn shuffled further into the room, clearing his throat. "So, uh, is there a plan or something?"

Kurt raised his eyebrow again. "Well, or something. I assume your bumbling apology means you're going to try and help us?"

Puck rolled his eyes. "Yes, your high and mighty Gayness, can I please be part of this?"

Finn shot Puck a warning look, but Kurt just took a second to think about it, before glancing over at Quinn. "You okay with him joining us?"

Quinn shrugged. "Sure, why not? Actually, wait, don't answer that. Just . . . it's fine, with me." And her smile was a lot warmer this time. Puck smiled back.

"All right, Puckerman, sit your ass down and listen," Mercedes slid back and in closer to Quinn as Finn and Puck sat down in their little circle. "We basically want Quinn to stage an intervention for her mom . . . we're thinking sometime over the weekend, when there's no work or nothing – plenty of time to chat. And we're considering being there – not actually _there _there. But like, waiting down in the car, in case things don't go over too well."

Puck looked down at the pamphlets, frowning to himself – he didn't like that plan all that much. Finn leaned back on his hands. "That sounds good and all but . . . but I don't think Quinn should be there alone."

"I'm sorry, but I can't have you guys there," Quinn said, drawing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "It's . . . it's personal, okay? I mean, my mom doesn't need to have a bunch of kids telling her she has a problem – I may be a teenager, but I'm her daughter. It needs to come from me, and only me."

"Doesn't your mom have any friends that you could –" Finn started but Quinn was already shaking her head.

"No . . . a lot of them were . . . more like friends of her _and _my dad. And even though what my dad did isn't exactly a . . . secret, they don't really want to have much to do with her, anymore. Especially because of my own . . . issues. And stuff. They're all . . . I mean, when my mom and I go to church, they say hi, and say that they're 'praying for us', and then get as far away from us as they can. I don't need or want their help. And my mom's new friends from work are nice and all but . . . they don't know her well enough to . . . it's on me, okay? It's all on me."

Her voice wavered and broke at the end of that, and she was wrapped in a hug from both Mercedes and Kurt, leaving Finn looking really sorry he asked, and Puck feeling really uncomfortable. But he was not backing down now that he was in this. Even though everything in him was telling him to hide from the tears – to get _away _from the crying, he crossed his arms and forced down his flight instincts.

"Lady Fab, we're gonna be right there – waiting for you downstairs and . . .," Mercedes pulled back from the hug. Quinn pulled away too, though she was still pressed a bit against Kurt. Mercedes chewed on her lip before continuing. "I was thinkin' . . . if you wanted, until everything with your mom is cleared up . . . you could come live with me again? My parents won't mind it – they missed you like crazy when they realized you're the reason why the dishwasher was emptied every morning and all the laundry folded – and 'cause you made my brothers actually wear clothes around the house. Your room is just like you left it."

Quinn wiped her tears and Kurt loosened his embrace enough to let her sit up straighter. "I . . . I don't know, 'Cedes – I don't like the idea of leaving my mom alone –"

"She can come see you anytime – and you can go see her anytime, it's not like we live that far."

"I have to admit, I like the idea," Kurt added.

"I like it too," Puck said slowly. "I, uh, I don't think you should get back with your mom until she can prove she can take care of you. When my mom went through her rough patch after my dad . . . my uncle Jacob told her to get her act together, for my sister and me, or else he would take us from her. A week later, all the bottles were in the garbage . . . there hasn't been a drop in my house since. It's why I gotta beg on Fridays to get my beers."

He ignored some of the mildly surprised looks shot his way at that bit of sharing. Specifically from Kurt and Mercedes – Finn already knew about that stuff.

"So I give my mom the chance to get her act together," Quinn insisted, looking at them all pleadingly. "I would hate myself forever if I left and that . . . I don't know, made her worse or something. I can't, I _won't._"

Mercedes grabbed her tight-fisted hand. "All right, all right – I get it, it's cool. Just know that you can always come on by and crash if you ever need to – for however long you want. But I'm – _we _– are not going to force you to do anything."

Puck stared at the two girls that he had dated and wondered if he was a total asswipe for still picturing that naked pillow fight (without Kurt this time, thank his Jewish God). But he was also worrying about Quinn (and who said guys couldn't multi-task?), and he said as much as Mercedes lead Quinn away to help clean her up and hide evidence of tears.

"I just think maybe you should try and change her mind," Puck pushed on as soon as the bathroom door closed.

Kurt frowned at him. "Why? And by 'why', I mean, 'why the hell are you suddenly so interested?' "

Puck rolled his eyes. "Your bitchiness finally got through to me, jackass. That's the . . . the mother of child in there, so screw you, but I wanna make sure she's somewhat happy and safe."

Finn cleared his throat. "I'm with Kurt, dude. Quinn'll be okay. And Kurt and Mercedes are totally gonna stay on top of this, let us know if she needs any serious help, right Kurt?"

Kurt nodded. "Of course. Now, if you two don't mind, I'm going to see if I can help my two girls – you may retreat back into your respective caves."

Finn shrugged. "Okay – you tell us when this is all going down though – I kinda want to be there. Quinn deserves all our support."

Finn was such a nice guy . . . it really sucked. Puck used to like it – because it meant that he could be as mean as he wanted and the universe worked itself out. Except now that he actually felt bad for some of his . . . lesser moments, Finn being nice only rubbed it in further – reminded him of the fifth place asshole that he was.

"Hey, Puck." Kurt turned around before he opened the door to the bathroom, and actually _smiled. _Not smirked, not scowled, but a full on, real smile. "You're coming along quite nicely – we may make a half-way decent person out of you yet."

And he flounced into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Puck didn't really know what to make of that, but it did sorta put him in a good mood. He turned down Finn's offer for more videogames though – he wanted to head home, maybe catch a five-hour nap. Maybe jam on his guitar or look up some actual naked pillow fights online. _Yeah_, that sounded like a plan.

He got into his truck, glancing at the time as he put it in gear. It was just past three. He froze, chewing hard on the inside of his cheek.

Sometimes Ms. Corcoran took Beth out to the park near her house around this time.

Puck pulled out of the Hummel-Hudson driveway and then idled for a bit. He pushed aside all the voices (Quinn's and Kurt's mostly) telling him that this was stupid, unhealthy (not to mention stalkerish), and helping no one.

He should just get to his computer, look up some porn since that was currently his only way to get some kind of action, and forget about . . .

He turned in the opposite direction of his house – he would just drive by before heading back home. Just a few minutes, a quick glimpse, and fuck the rest of them. He could handle this. He could.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_It's so easy to be smart_

_With somebody else's heart_

_But I don't know where to start forgetting you_

_What can I do?_

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Well, I found Puck easier to write than Quinn . . . but what to actually _do_ with the delightful asshole was another thing entirely. I proofread this rather quickly so please, if there are any mistakes, let me know and I shall fix them.

Again, hope you all enjoyed, and see you next chapter, wherein there shall be further gleek involvement! Unfortunately, I don't know exactly when that will be, as I don't have it completely written yet, but I'll try to get it up as soon as possible. Any feedback from you guys will add fuel to the fire - thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 3**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Quinn had no problems whatsoever right now.

Right now, in this moment, she was watching Rachel and Kurt trying to rip each other's throats out and honestly? She wanted to film this and send the DVD in as a pitch for a reality show. This was absolutely one of the most entertaining things she'd seen this summer.

She had sneaked into the auditorium with Mercedes, Finn, Matt, Santana, Brittany, Artie and Mike following close behind her. She wasn't expecting anyone other than Finn and Mercedes to meet her at the theatre. They were going to pick up Kurt and then go with her, to be there while she spoke with her mother. So to pull up to the parking lot outside the community centre and see the two extra cars unloading a bunch of other gleeks . . . it was a surprise. And she didn't really know how to feel about all of them knowing – which they obviously did considering the hugs and sympathetic looks she was getting. Santana actually didn't scowl, for once, and sort of patted her on the shoulder. Which was incredibly weird.

Now, going back to the amazing bitchfest at the theatre.

They had walked in covertly and sat down near the middle row in the auditorium – just on the edge of the darkness that started where the stage lights ended. And it was perfect. Rachel was directing a group of kids, half dressed in their costumes (some items and fabrics which looked strangely familiar), and she was stepping in every few minutes to either correct their stance or . . . sing their parts.

"If you hit _that _note – which admittedly you could probably only achieve with my years of experience and extensive training – then we'll have achieved perfection! But, I understand the limits of your youth and lack of musical backgrounds, so we'll settle for less than perfect! Remember, 'if you shoot for the moon and miss, you still land among stars'!"

Quinn rolled her eyes. The girls (and one boy – but he was young and vaguely girl-like) playing the orphans were actually pretty good – and enthusiastic despite Rachel's 'encouraging' words. Quinn also noted that while the lights were trained on the kids there was also a spotlight trained on Rachel and it followed her around the stage. Constantly. Somehow, this did not surprise her at all.

Then, in the middle of '_It's a Hard-Knock Life'_, Kurt came strolling onto the stage, an army of pre-teen girls following him. For a long moment he just stood there, hands on his hips, as if posing. The singing tapered off as all the kids on the stage sort of shuffled backwards, exchanging looks. Some were frightened, others wearied . . . but most of them looked like they were two seconds away from pulling up some chairs and breaking out the popcorn.

Rachel whipped around to glare at Kurt and his posse. "Yes, _Mr. Hummel, _what can I do for you?"

Kurt moved one hand off his hips, lifting it up slowly to point directly at Rachel. "You. You evil parody of fashion incarnate, you did _not_ just send back all the fabric I special ordered. I know you did not do that because that would be an act inviting retribution the likes of which you have never seen – righteous justice that would make the wrathful God of the Old Testament seem like Ned Flanders."

"I _did!_" Rachel said defiantly, completely ignoring the widening eyes of their younger charges. "It was completely _wrong _for Warbucks! I mean, a violet waistcoat with –"

"_Cashmere _was wrong for a _millionaire_?" Kurt hissed out, his back-up of prepubescent girls tensing right along with him. "You're just angry that I pilfered a few items from your wardrobe –"

"Try _half, _you –"

"To make the _fantastically awful _costumes for the orphans." Quinn and Mercedes had to bite their lips and cover their mouths to keep from bursting out laughing. "I did you a favour both in creating the wonderfully _accurate_ get-ups of our poor little orphan children and in giving you the opportunity to dress less like the lovechild of an old lady's animal sweater collection and an uncoordinated kindergartner – it was an act of friendship. _This" –_ here he brandished a patch of fabric – "this is _atrocious_ and uncalled for! Are you _trying_ to sabotage our play?"

"_Polyester is cheaper and a perfectly acceptable fabric! And for the last time, it's __**my **__play!"_

"_I am in charge of the wardrobe department now, Berry, so either get me my fabric back or I go back to your house for another afternoon tea with your fathers in order to steal the other half of your closet! And I thought the deal was that we split responsibilities, therefore making it __**our **__play!"_

They were almost nose-to-nose now, breathing hard and glaring into each other's eyes. Rachel reared back and for a dizzying moment, Quinn could have sworn she was going to slap him – but no, she just stuck a pointed finger in Kurt's face and burst out with, "I may have made you co-director, but I am still the one Mr. and Mrs. Grant put in charge of this musical, and that means I make all the executive decisions, and that means _my fabrics stay!"_

Kurt reared back, his entire form stiffening. His entourage waited breathlessly behind him.

Quinn nudged Mercedes, pointing at the totally helplessly puppy-love expressions on their faces . . . Kurt hadn't mentioned _that. _Although, that was probably because he hadn't noticed, dense idiot that he was. Santana murmured quietly to Brittany, "Huh. Hummel's got his own groupies – sorry Britt, looks like some preemies may have beaten you to the punch."

Brittany huffed. "No way. Kurt is totally my make-out friend, and those girls are such _skanks."_

Quinn stared at the adorable, perfectly decently dressed (Kurt's influence she was willing to bet) and completely enamored group of twelve and thirteen year old girls . . . Oh God, between Kurt's entourage and Rachel's diva-fit, Quinn was going to be rolling on the floor laughing soon.

"All right, Rachel, you leave me _no choice. _I tried to be reasonable. I gave you a chance. I let you completely change the choreography to _my _numbers with minimal insulting. I let you determine the rehearsal schedules and the deadlines for costumes, insane though they are – but you have finally forced my hand. _Tina, do it!"_

And suddenly Rachel's spotlight, that had been following her throughout the entire argument, went dark.

Rachel spluttered in the darkness and spent a few minutes wandering somewhat . . . lost, around the stage, but at every lit portion, she was turned away with a warning flickering of light.

Kurt stood triumphantly in his own spotlight. "That's right, Director Berry – I control the lights now. Which means, now that half the departments will only take final orders from _me, _I am officially your _equal. _Therefore, if you will acquiesce to admitting that I am in fact, your _partner, _and not your _subordinate, _I will graciously admit you into my spotlight, and allow you to listen to my compromise."

Quinn had to sit on her hands to prevent herself from bursting into applause. Kurt stood regally, the anger eradicated from his features by absolute victory.

Rachel crossed her arms in the shadows, staring at her feet before tentatively approaching Kurt's light.

"What are your terms?" she asked, still annoyed, still defiant.

Kurt eased his stance a little, smiling. "They are simple – we work within our own departments, with no interference from one another – we will keep each other informed of progress and changes. If there is something that we consider highly objectionable and we can not resolve it on our own, then we put it to a vote," Kurt indicated the girls behind him and the actors on the stage. "We let the others decide because, after all, this is more about them then it is about us."

Rachel clenched her jaw, but she glanced around at the people surrounding her . . . including various back-stage helpers that were emerging, shyly and fearfully from the wings. The stage was full to the brim with everyone involved in the play, and Rachel finally softened her expression, turning back to Kurt with an apologetic smile.

"Agreed – and I'm sorry about your fabrics. Some of them were lovely. And there were some good bargains in terms of pricing."

"And your choreography did end up being better suited for some of those songs, I was actually mildly impressed." He held out his hand, shaking hers firmly.

"All right, Tina, let her have it!" Kurt announced. Rachel's spotlight returned, and there was resounding applause from everyone on the stage.

Brittany started clapping too. "Wow, that was really good. But I don't get it – which one of them is Annie?"

Quinn gave in and burst out laughing, clapping and crying herself into a fit of hysteria. Everyone else joined in, catching the attention of their friends on the stage.

Kurt squinted out into the seats, breaking into a wide, happy smile. Rachel waved at Finn excitedly – he was already striding down the aisle and Rachel leapt off the stage when he reached it, almost knocking him flat onto the ground. "Hi!"

"Hey!" He grinned. "So, it's awesome that you and Kurt are cool now – does that mean we can go back to making out in my house instead of yours? 'Cause, uh, my mom and Burt don't knock on the door every five seconds when you're over."

"I told you that was just my dads being overprotective after the whole thing with Jesse." Rachel sighed, then perked up. "But yes, your house would be much more . . . agreeable than mine for making out!"

"Ms. Berry?" A little girl with braided pigtails stepped forward. "Are we . . . um, done for today? Because our parents are waiting–"

"Oh yes, Penelope, all of you." Rachel whipped around within the circle of Finn's arms. "Well done today – though, keep in mind we still have a long way to go before we are even close to the standards I expect for opening night. But, yes, we'll finish . . . oh, we're finishing on time . . . well –"

"Yes, it's nice when we don't push things an hour later than we're suppose, isn't it? Oh, and Penny, you really sounded great – I liked that little twirl you added at the end of your verse."

Penny giggled. "You should, it was your idea. But thanks anyway Kurt! Bye, Ms. Berry!"

There were similar calls as the actors and stagehands bolted from the auditorium. Rachel, it seemed, wanted to get a head start on the making out, and was pulling Finn into an enthusiastic kiss.

Quinn knew she was making a face, but she couldn't help it: couldn't they keep it behind closed doors?

Kurt grinned down at her and Mercedes. "Hey ladies, want to help me one up Rachel and catch me after a fantastic triple flip off stage?"

Mercedes snorted. "Baby, I love you, don't get me wrong, but you jump off that stage and the only thing catching you is the floor here."

Quinn, on the other hand, held out her arms, grinning widely. "Go right ahead – I'm not too sure about the strength in my arms after months of no Cheerios' practise, but –"

Kurt laughed, shaking his head. "As kind as your offer is, I think I'll find my own way down."

"Kurt, um," came the soft simper of a member of the Hummel Harem (Quinn made a mental note to pass that name onto Mercedes as soon as possible).

Kurt turned to face her, his smile bright, still flushed from his success at taming Rachel (at least for the duration of this play). "What do you need from me, Carly?"

There was an actual lovelorn whimper from somewhere in the back of the group, but Carly, brown haired and freckled, soldiered on. "Since, uh, we don't have the fabrics for now –"

"Oh, right," Kurt sighed. "Well, you guys can finish off Ms. Hannigan's dresses – and Annie's dress for the last act needs a little em –"

"I finished it!" came a cry, and suddenly a black-haired girl, olive-skinned with wide, wide dark eyes emerged from the middle of the group. Quinn stared at her oblivious friend, who clapped and congratulated her on a job well done as she all but melted before him, and _holy crap _no wonder Kurt hadn't noticed Brittany's seduction this entire summer. He really was _that _clueless when it came to girls.

Speaking of Brittany . . . Quinn glanced over and saw that the girl was making her way onto the stage, frowning and tossing her blonde hair over one shoulder. She reached Kurt and wrapped an arm possessively around his waist. "Kuuuuuurt, can I ride with you over to Quinn's?"

Kurt turned to her, almost swallowing a few wavy locks as Brittany pressed herself even closer. He coughed lightly before wrapping an arm around her. "Of course, Brittany."

"Pfft, I can't wait 'til this phase is over with." Santana glared at the two. "How can Hummel be so fucking blind? You should see her when we're practicing routines together – she's practically shoving his hand up her skirt and he's _still not getting it._"

Quinn had to smile both at Santana's bitchery (was that jealously she faintly detected?) and at the absolutely crestfallen expressions on the little pre-teens' faces.

One of them rolled her eyes to the sky, muttering something that looked rather like _duh, of course he'd have a hot blonde girlfriend. _Quinn had to swallow down another round of insane laughter and she glanced over at her partner crime, Mercedes, who was staring at the ceiling, clearly chewing on the inside of her cheek. Their eyes met and they both looked away, struggling yet again for control of their mirth.

Kurt pulled Brittany closer, frowning slightly as they made their way off the stage. "You know, Britt, I realize we already have several on-going dramas, but I'm worried – you've been really clingy this summer, and I don't mind," he was quick to add, "But I just want to make sure you're okay."

Brittany was all starry-eyed innocence and poorly concealed flirtation – a hand was tiptoeing its way up Kurt's chest. "I'm just sad I don't get to see my friends everyday. So when I see you, I get extra happy."

Kurt glanced over at Mercedes, a rather bemused expression on his face. "That's . . . really sweet, Brittany. I definitely miss hearing your witty repartées on a regular basis."

Brittany looked positively thrilled with that pronouncement, but Quinn was pretty sure she had just translated 'witty repartées' into 'breasts and kisses'. Or something. Either way, this had to stop – Quinn's eyes were watering from all the laughter she was keeping back.

Rachel turned to the girls on stage. "I'm sorry for depriving you of your fabrics, ladies – I promise I'll make it up to you!"

The girls all smiled, eyes still on Kurt, and Carly, their spokesperson it seemed, said, "Thanks Ms. Berry, we appreciate that. So . . ."

She looked down at Kurt expectantly and Kurt blinked back before jumping a little in realization. "Right – sorry, guys, you can go too! I'll see you tomorrow!"

The pre-teens all sang out goodbyes and disappeared, with many a backward look at the oh-so-oblivious gay boy. Brittany relaxed once they were gone, and pressed a quick kiss to Kurt's cheek before giving him some breathing room. Quinn took advantage of this, reaching over and threading an arm through Kurt's, Mercedes on his other side. "So, those girls seem sweet. Like, sweet on you."

Kurt gave her a puzzled, disbelieving look. "Uh, right. I think they've picked up on the fact that I'm about as gay as they come, Quinn."

"Well, sometimes people don't see things because they don't want to see 'em," Mercedes said sagely. "And other times . . . because they're too freakin' dense to pick up on something that is staring them right in the face."

Kurt pursed his lips. "Well, if you say so . . . I'll talk to them later . . . maybe out myself. That should take care of any crushes, don't you think?"

Thinking of Brittany, Quinn wanted to say, 'I wouldn't count on it', but she nodded. "Yeah, put them out of their misery, please. Poor girls need to know there's no chance in hell for them."

They reached the doors leading out to the parking lot fairly quickly, Brittany skipping over to Kurt's SUV, waiting by the front passenger side door. There were more cars now, and various kids were hoping into them, waving at Kurt and Rachel as they left. Tina emerged as well, after a couple of minutes, chatting with the boys and girls under her charge in the lighting department – they ran to their parents' waiting vehicles, shouting goodbyes.

Starring at one little girl throwing herself into her mother's arms, the reality of the situation started to register with Quinn – her mom . . . her mother was about to hear her daughter tell her she was unfit to parent – that she had a problem . . . She separated herself from Kurt reluctantly. "I guess . . . I'll see you all –"

"I'm riding with you, Lady Fab," Mercedes interrupted. "And yeah, we'll be waiting for you downstairs, but all you need to do is holler – or text – and we'll be up there Superman-fast. I promise."

All the laughter and fun of the morning was seeping out of her, even as she desperately tried to cling to it. Her stomach was tying itself into painful knots, and God, she had never wanted to _not _do something more in her life. This was right up there with telling her parents she was pregnant. With confessing to her mother the true father of her baby girl. It just _sucked_.

"Right, okay," Quinn breathed out. "I . . ."

She noticed everyone else staring at her, waiting by open car doors. Tina was standing next to Artie, already tucked comfortably in his van, both of them shooting her warm, encouraging smiles. Santana looked bored by the whole thing, but she was standing there patiently, not saying a word. Quinn felt like maybe they were waiting for a speech or something? What the did they expect her to say?

"Thank you, all, for being here," she said awkwardly. "Um, but let's just get going, okay?"

She walked swiftly to her own car, sliding into the front seat, gripping her steering wheel tight enough to stretch the skin of her hands, making her knuckles whiten and her tendons stand out.

Mercedes got in beside her, slamming her door shut. There were similar echoing sounds as everyone piled into their rides, but then nothing. They were waiting for her again, and Quinn really didn't want to go. Maybe this could wait 'til the end of summer? Maybe her mom would clue in on her own, and none of this would be necessary.

Mercedes put her own hand over one that was in a death grip on the wheel. "Okay, Quinn?"

Quinn inhaled once. "Yeah, yeah." No, not really.

Then she quite suddenly remembered something – a lack of something, actually. "Where's . . . where's Puck?"

"Oh, he's meeting us there – something about a pool job this morning or whatever. But he said he'd be there, and he's been pretty good about his promises this summer."

That was true. Except that Quinn was pretty sure he was still spying on Beth, but she really couldn't do much more about that than she already had.

"Right, okay . . . let's" – she cleared her throat, blinked to get rid of her blurry vision – "head out."

As she pulled out of the parking lot, she took comfort in the cars following behind her. This . . . this was all for the best, Kurt and Mercedes had said it a million times over, and Quinn really wanted and tried to believe that.

A part of her still felt like she was somehow betraying, hurting, her mother. Despite that, she was going to do this – because Kurt and Mercedes were right – her mom had a problem, and Quinn loved her enough to help her with it. No matter what the cost.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Puck was parked closer then he normally would be, but damn, it had seemed like forever since he'd caught a glimpse of his girl. He hadn't lied to Aretha – he _had _been cleaning Mrs. O'Leary's pool this morning, but it was just one street over from Ms. Corcoran's place and he still had plenty of time before he had to be at Quinn's . . . so what was the harm in waiting for a bit, just in case Beth was heading out to the park today?

Well, there was a lot of harm, he soon discovered.

He was glancing down at his phone, reading a text from Finn telling him that they were all at the auditorium waiting for Kurt and Rachel, and going to be heading out to Quinn's soon, when he looked back up . . . and there was Ms. Corcoran, striding out onto the street, staring straight at him.

He reached for the parking brake, knowing perfectly damn well as he did that there was no way he could peel out of there before Ms. Corcoran reached him. But reflexive flight instinct aside, he also had a fair bit of fight in him. Damnit, that baby was _his_ daughter. It wasn't anything other than bad timing that had forced him to give her up. And he'd seriously been considering convincing Quinn to keep her, even though it would probably have been a huge mistake in the long run. But how could being a family – with her real parents – be such a wrong thing?

"Noah Puckerman." She reached the truck in less than five seconds, and as she came to a stop, Puck got out, standing in front of her . . . hating that she was basically as tall as he was.

He crossed his arms and raised his chin. "Yeah, that's me."

She nodded. "Right. Let me just make something clear right now – I understand. I get _exactly _what you're feeling right now. And I've known for weeks that you've been spying on me – well, on Beth."

Puck blinked, mouth parting . . . okay, he actually didn't know what to say to that.

Ms. Corcoran pressed her lips together before continuing. "I've let it go because . . . because that little girl in there . . . she's mine, but she's also yours – just like Rachel is always going to technically be a part of me, Beth is a part of you. But _you've_ got to start _letting this go_, Noah, and I'm not just speaking from a selfish place here – I'm telling you that if you don't start making peace with this, it's going to eat you alive – all the 'what if's, and 'shoulda, coulda, woulda's – and you're going to do something stupid."

Puck cocked an eyebrow. "Like sending a teenage boy to seduce my daughter so I could get her to know me . . . and then totally ditch her when it wasn't picture perfect like I wanted?"

He knew it was mean, but Puck wasn't one to sugarcoat the truth – he never had been. He knew people considered him an asshole, but one thing he wasn't was a liar.

Ms. Corcoran winced but she stood her ground. "Yep, that would be one such stupid thing. And for the record, I asked Jesse to 'befriend' her. He took on his own interpretation of those words and when I found out about the egging, I had to put up some kind of fight over the slashed tires, otherwise the parents would have had my head on a silver platter . . . but there's a reason why you and that Hudson kid are off the hook now, and it's because my kids made a huge mistake in assuming that since I wasn't pursuing a maternal relationship with my daughter, it meant that I didn't care about her."

Her dark eyes were steely, and Puck nodded slowly – all right, he could get behind that, appreciate it even. She smiled faintly at him before continuing.

"But, don't you get what I'm saying? I held onto this fantasy of my daughter and all I did in the end was hurt myself, and more importantly, hurt _her. _And I . . . I see you here, and I see it on your face – it's killing you that you can't have her with you, watch her grow, but you and Quinn made that decision and trust me, at the end of the day, it'll all work out. And I promise you that I love Beth with everything in me – with everything I would have loved Rachel with," she said softly at the end.

And fuck it if he didn't believe her – she was speaking truth. He knew bullshit when he heard it – like when Finn had tried to hide Glee club behind his mother's 'prostate' surgery, or whenever Rachel made executive decisions for the 'good of the club' which was really for 'the good Rachel's solos'. Ms. Corcoran was looking at him with complete compassion and it made him uncomfortable because he'd wanted her to yell, to accuse him of something, anything, but this . . . this was everything Quinn, Kurt and Finn had been telling him, this was everything he already sorta knew himself, but didn't want to face.

Fucking hell, it hurt like a bitch to hear it from his baby's new mother.

"But . . ." Puck floundered for something to say, because there had to be something, something he could do, because the idea of never seeing Beth again . . . "But you . . . isn't there some kind of rule about giving us updates or some shit? I mean, pictures, and e-mails –"

Ms. Corcoran was looking at him strangely. "The agreement that Quinn and I worked out didn't include any of that – I was more than willing to send you guys whatever you wanted, whenever, and my lawyer and the agency representative both strongly suggested it as well, but Quinn . . . she said that you both wanted a clean slate, and no contact whatsoever."

Puck did not remember having a conversation with Quinn about that – like, _ever_.

"What do you mean?" he asked, already dreading the answer. Because Quinn could be a bitch, could be shallow and whatever – just like him, he freely admitted. Telling your boyfriend that he's the father of his best friend's kid? Pretty Goddamn selfish and bitchy, but after all that they went through, there was no way Quinn would just . . . cut him out of a huge decision like that.

"We talked about it for hours, and . . . she said she had discussed it with you already. The agency we used allowed for both us to design the type of adoption we wanted . . . and having gone through what I went through with Rachel, I was ready to offer as open an adoption as you both wanted but she said that zero contact was a must. And that means she's cut all ties – something like a closed adoption."

Puck tried to flash back to the papers he signed – Quinn had told him everything was in order, that it was all . . . Shit, how could he have been so blind, so fucking naive? He went frantically through Ms. Corcoran's words, trying to understand it all, and a large part of him got it, really got it, but he couldn't help himself.

"What does that mean?" he asked again, stupidly. He felt like he had that day in that hospital – it was too much, all at once, too fast, too everything.

"It means that you have no legal rights to her anymore, no right to contact her, or even to know anything about her – you're just a name on a birth certificate, and I can call the cops if you keep showing up here," she said it gently, as if this was her being nice, and Puck wasn't having his daughter ripped away from him all over again. Why did he feel this way? Why was he acting like this was news to him? He'd agreed to give her up, but Quinn, that damn . . . She'd had _no right_ to do that without at least _telling _him first.

"I'm sorry, Noah, but maybe if you talk to –"

"No, no, never mind. Just . . . forget it." He jumped back into his car, slamming the door shut. "I'm gone – you'll never see me again. I swear."

He tore away from the curb. It was weird – the road looked a bit blurry, and it took him ten minutes to figure out that there was wetness on his cheeks. He growled to himself and pulled violently onto the stretch of road that would take him to Quinn's – after all, he was late to her intervention for her drunk mother – he had to be there to _support_ her. Like she had been supporting him this whole summer . . . while fucking lying to his face.

His fingers clenched the steering wheel hard enough to hurt.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_It only hurts for a little while_

_That's what they tell me,_

_"Just wait and see."_

_But I will hurt 'til you come back to me._

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **Apologies for any mistakes – I'm half asleep and bone-tired, but I wanted to post this now – this is going to be the week from hell in terms of busyness for me . . . Oh, and I did do some research on different types of adoptions and the like. Most of my info came off a website for an actual adoption agency based somewhere in Ohio . . . *drifts off* Right – hope y'all enjoy this, and see you next chapter (or for the next chapter of _Close Enough _which will likely be the next thing I update, though I have no clue when).


	4. Chapter 4

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 4**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Quinn wasn't too sure what to expect when she reached her temporary home, but she could feel the unwavering support from her friends as she climbed out of the car. When she gave them a quick, backward glance, the sight of them all gazing at her with compassion (or seeming indifference, on Santana's part), but not pity – that gave her the strength to climb up those stairs. When she made it to the door she paused, holding her keys tightly enough for their edges to bite painfully into her palm.

Was she really ready to do this? Probably not. But it had to be done. Three deep breaths later, she was unlocking the door and pushing her way in.

Her mother was in the kitchen, humming along to the radio and taking sips from a glass of scotch as she washed the dishes. The sight of those manicured hands wrapped around a short glass of amber liquid was all too familiar to Quinn. Only in recent years did it start to actually nag at her. Only in the past few months had it started to break her heart. Only in the past few days had she realized what it would mean to see those fingers clutch glass after glass until . . .

She sucked in some air through pursed lips, trying to focus on what she could say.

Quinn hovered behind her for a long while before calling out, "Mom?"

Her mother jumped, splashing water onto the floor, turning and laughing self-consciously. "Oh, Quinnie – I didn't even hear your come in! I thought you were going to be out all day?" She dried one hand on a dishtowel, turning off the radio.

Quinn crossed and then uncrossed her arms, nervous and heartsick and just really, really not wanting to be there right then, and she still had no clue how to even start this conversation. "No, I just went to visit Kurt at the theatre with everybody." Her voice was low and scratchy. She cleared her throat, praying for inspiration of some kind to hit. The perfect words to fix this, that wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Quinn? You okay, sweetheart?" Her mother reached for her with a wet, soapy hand.

Quinn nodded, croaking out, "I'm fine. I, um . . ."

Her mom tilted her head, using that same wet hand to tuck stray locks of blonde hair behind her ears. "You don't look fine. Are you running a fever? Feel nauseated? Why don't you go lie down and I'll whip you up some soup."

For some reason, that cheerful, motherly tone, the sight of her concerned face, had Quinn blurting, "I think you need help, mom!" She let out a half-sob at the end of that statement, but clenched her jaw before it could fully escape.

Not her best moment, and not the best way to jump start the conversation – but it was out there now and there was no going back.

Her mother stared, and she did that quirky little half-smile she did when she knew _exactly _what you were talking about, but pretended she didn't, playing up the happy, well-adjusted housewife card. Quinn hated that look. She'd seen it almost every day of her entire existence. She was _sick _of it. Her eyes narrowed and her hands found their way onto her hips.

"I'm sorry, honey, I just don't –"

"Don't say you don't get it, because you do, mom." Quinn latched onto to her anger, to her frustration – with her life, with her lost baby girl, and now with her mother. She didn't want to, but if she chose to let go of the anger, all she would have was that nauseating sadness, and that way lead to tears, which would lead to nothing being said. Damnit, if she didn't say it now, she would never say it, because there was no way she was going to go through this _twice._

"You, avoid reality, with _this_!" Quinn marched over to the glass of scotch on the counter, emptying it into the sink, and then whipping around to face where her mother kept all the alcohol, pointing at the cabinet, its crystal flasks and bottles resting in plain sight. "_This_, mom, you use it to make things bearable but . . . it's going to destroy you, in the end. Destroy _us._"

"_Quinn, _where on earth_ –_"

"No, let me finish!" She had no idea where this frantic energy was coming from – Mercedes and Kurt had to stage an intervention for _her, _in order to convince her that this was necessary, and even then she had her doubts and a hefty dose of denial coursing through her system. But now, now she _needed _to get this off her chest.

"I don't want you to do this anymore – I know it kills you, what happened to me, what happened with dad – but we have each other. We still have our home, we still have a comfortable life. That's so much more than most separated families get, so much. And yeah, I'm not saying that this isn't hard – of course it is. But, you space out, you lose days . . . this is dangerous, mom."

Her mother wasn't looking directly at her anymore, but she was dropping the confused front – she understood what Quinn was saying, she must have, right from the start. After all, in order to be in denial, one had to know there was _something_ to deny.

"Quinn . . . I haven't gotten behind the wheel of a car drunk, I haven't hurt you or myself in any way, and I'm sorry, sweetie, but as grown-up as you've become, you're not . . ."

"Mom, I know, okay?" Quinn felt her inner resolve strengthen, because she _did_. Maybe she wasn't an adult yet, but that didn't mean she was an _idiot. _If you had more than two brain cells to rub together, being pregnant while still in high school gave you a certain degree of insight into adulthood and its cruel disappointments. "I'm not in the same position as you, and I don't have years of experience with all the crap life can throw at you but . . . I'm here, now, and I'm telling you that you are _worrying _me. It isn't right to use alcohol to get through life. It isn't. And maybe you haven't gotten a DUI or . . . but mom, seriously? Are you telling me it has to get _that_ bad before you're willing to do something? Why not _now, _before I have to see you in a hospital, or pick you up from the police station? _Please._"

Her mother said nothing for endless minutes – she walked towards the couch, falling down onto it, staring with glazed eyes at the coffee table. Quinn moved to sit down on the table, directly in front of her line of sight. She wanted to reach out and grab the lifeless, lithe hands that were resting on her mom's lap, but she restrained herself, waiting. Hoping.

When her mother finally came back to the real world, her eyes were glistening and she was biting her lip viciously. Quinn flinched hard at the wounded look, biting her own lip.

"I . . . Quinn, oh sweetie." Fer mother swallowed audibly. "You're asking me to change, and I don't know if I can. Things have been this way for me longer than I can remember. I don't want you to think that your father broke me. I . . . I did this to myself. God, until I left that cheating . . . I'd never stood up to any man in my life. Not my father. Not my husband. And I never thought it strange or bad to cope with a drink or two."

Her mother glanced towards the liquor once before continuing in a much weaker, more anguished tone. "Sweetheart, I don't even know when that drink or two became six or seven a day. But I've always been careful, tried to keep myself under control – because once I had your sister and you, I couldn't risk hurting you." The tears spilled over then, "But I have, haven't I? I've let so many things go, so many things I could've prevented, could've helped you with . . ." Her mom started to sob. "Oh God, Quinn, I'm so sorry."

Quinn launched herself at her mother, falling to the floor and wrapping her arms rightly around her waist. She pressed her cheek right above her mom's heart. "No, I'm sorry. I should've . . ." She didn't know what. She hadn't even really accepted that there was a problem until a few days ago. She just wished desperately she could erase the hurt for both of them. Quinn faintly smelled scotch as she pressed herself closer, which made her own tears spiller hotter and faster. That smell . . . how long had that smell tingled her nose, every time she hugged or kissed her mom? _Since forever_.

"It's okay, mom – see, you've admitted it, and that's half the battle, right?" She offered up a tremulous smile as she pulled away from their messy hug. Her mother stared at her, cradling Quinn's face between two hands that smelled strongly of lemony dish detergent. Quinn inhaled deeply, trying to erase the lingering waft of alcohol – if what happened with Puck hadn't already made her swear off all alcoholic beverages, then this definitely would've been the clincher. Her mother grabbed her close again, squeezing impossibly tight.

They stayed in that embrace so long that Quinn's knees went numb from her position on the floor, and everything felt heavy and uncomfortably warm. But she wasn't going to be the one to pull away first this time. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm beneath her ears, ignoring the odd hitch in breath.

After an eternity her mother slowly untangled their limbs, pushing Quinn back so she could look her in the face again, thumbs brushing Quinn's cheekbones gently, adoringly.

Then her mom shook her head, shutting her washed-out blue eyes. "Maybe you should go and live with Mercedes," she whispered. "I'm no good for you – no good for anyone. Not my husband. Not my daughter."

"Mom," Quinn gasped out wetly. "No, that's not –"

"Yes, yes you're right." She stood up, bracing herself against the arm of the couch, leaving Quinn kneeling on the floor, speechless. "Quinn, just leave. Go, be with your friends. They were there for you when your own mother . . ."

"Mom, _no! _That's not what I want – that's not why I said all this!" she cried out. "I want you to get help, but I still want to be with you. To live with you."

Her mother's tears had dried and her face was now blank, edged with pain; Quinn was seeing wrinkles and patches she had never noticed before. Oh God, what had she done? She'd messed up somehow and now her mother was _kicking her out_.

"Mom –"

"No, call Mercedes. Have her come and get you. I need . . . time and space to think, Quinn. And you deserve better than me – than what I am right now. You're right."

"No, no, I _never _said that."

"Quinn." Her mother reached out to stroke her cheek once more. "Just . . . please, listen to me. Okay? I promise I'll call you when I . . . I know better what I want to do. I just . . . I'm going to be selfish right now – but it'll be the last time. I love you, I love you so much. Please. Go, pack up."

Quinn shook her head frantically, and her mother wheezed out a sigh as she turned around and walked into Quinn's bedroom. Quinn followed her in daze, watching as she packed Quinn's clothes rather calmly, despite her trembling limbs. Oh God. Oh God. This was all her fault – she shouldn't have said anything. No, wait. That was a lie. She'd had no choice – Kurt and Mercedes, they were right about getting her mother to admit the problem. Her mother was . . . an alcoholic (was that really her first time thinking the word?). But Quinn should've said something better, should've been kinder or slower or _something._

"Quinn – go on, now, call her Mercedes, and ask her if it's all right for you to stay for a few days. Her parents are lovely people – they were so kind to you."

Quinn mouthed wordlessly, then, "I . . . Mercedes is already here. They're all here. They came with me and . . ."

Her mom smiled, weak and fragile, but real. "I'm so happy you have such loyal and wonderful friends, Quinnie. Good. Go on then." Quinn's deep blue suitcase zipped up right before her eyes. Her mother smoothed out the covers of Quinn's bed once she'd pulled the suitcase off.

Quinn started shaking her head. "Mom, no, I won't go."

"I'm not asking, Quinn," she said quietly. "I really need you to give me the space, sweetie – I need to deal with myself for a bit. Just let me do this."

It was the most serious, the most sober, she'd heard her mom speak in ages. She sounded like a . . . well, like a _mother._

And Quinn didn't know how to say no to that.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It took another fifteen minutes (most of which she spent wrapped up in her mother's arms) for her to be able to walk out of the apartment. When she turned to shut the door, she hesitated before she put her key in the lock, the sense of déjà vu overpowering. Quinn was actually so dizzy, she needed to lean against the door to regain her bearings. She may have pressed her ear to it, waiting for that tell-tale rattling sound – for the clinking of glass. She waited for as long as she could, until the silence became unbearable in and of itself. She bent to grasp her suitcase and stand up straight again.

She stood on the balcony, not daring to look down where all her friends were waiting. It was eerily quiet and she knew that they must have seen her leave. Quinn took in several deep breaths, coughed once as the air caught harshly in throat – more sobs on the way, but she swallowed and closed her eyes tight.

With her eyes still closed she walked, opening them just as she reached the top of the stairs. Mercedes was waiting at the bottom. Quinn had hardly made it to the last step before the other girl had yanked her into a hug. The suitcase hit the pavement with a solid thud, but it hadn't been that heavy. Her mother hadn't packed everything and that had to mean something, right?

"Oh, no, Quinn, did you . . . she wouldn't listen, would she?" Mercedes whispered into her hair.

Quinn shook her head against Mercedes shoulder, leaning away and shaking it again. "No, that's not . . . she listened. She listened and she . . . she made me leave. She . . . " Quinn bit into her much abused lower lip, "She says she needs time. Oh God. I made her feel _so bad. _How could I do that? She was hurting – worse than me. I could've been . . . nicer, I could've –"

"Hey." Kurt was walking over now. Quinn gazed at him, and past him. Everyone was huddling in close and they were all so sad. For her. Rachel was crying and Artie was shaking his head, exchanging sorrowful looks with Tina. She saw Puck, in his car, and as soon as they made eye contact, he opened the door, jaw clenching, moving to stand just behind everyone else, arms crossed.

Kurt put a soft hand on her shoulder. "Quinn, all that means is that she heard you – that means she knows she needs to step up and take care of herself before she can take care of you. She _loves you, _and she's willing to do something about her issues."

Kurt took his turn hugging her and Quinn was starting to feel the heaviness in her heart lighten, albeit slightly, but all that did was leave her bone-tired. And she still ached, desperately, on the inside.

"Maybe you guys are right, but I can't help feeling like somehow I'm the screw-up here."

"Quinn, c'mon, you just did what you had to," Finn protested. "Quit beating yourself up about being a good daughter."

"What he said," Kurt said, shooting Finn a quick smile, before turning back to Quinn. "You're amazing, and now you just have to wait. Okay? You still have us. We're not leaving you. I'll come with you to Mercedes house – we'll unpack and make some ridiculously fattening dessert and watch eighties movies until the ludicrous fashions make me want to claw out my eyeballs. I'll suffer that for you."

Quinn let out giggle, which then turned into a choked laugh, which was soon just a choking sound, and wow, how could she be crying _again?_

This time it was Kurt who hugged her close, but Mercedes soon joined in, and someone else was rubbing her back, while small hands (Rachel?) stroked her hair. Quinn got herself under control quickly, and when she stopped crying, people started to step back. Quinn stood up straighter, wiping at her cheeks and laughing humourlessly, self-consciously. "I'm sorry for being such a basket-case," she apologized to everyone.

They all scoffed and waved off her apology. Well, Santana rolled her eyes and muttered something about 'enough emo crap'. And Puck . . . Puck was being oddly quiet, his colour-shifting eyes glinting darkly in the fading light (it was growing dark, the moon visible in the still-blue sky), but Quinn really didn't feel like figuring out what was wrong with him_._

"I know I have you guys, and God, I'm so grateful, but it still feels like I've lost my mom," Quinn breathed out. "How could she make me leave?"

"Quinn –"

"I made her think she wasn't good enough, and that I didn't want her. How could I do that?"

Kurt was close enough to force eye contact. "Quinn," his bright blue/green eyes gleamed. "You had to do this, please don't blame yourself."

"Blame me if you want," came Puck's soft voice at last, lined with anger and frustration. "After all, I got you pregnant."

"No, Puck –" She didn't want him to shoulder any blame for this – not when he was dealing with his own issues. But he just scowled, cutting her off abruptly.

"No, c'mon, Quinn, it's only fair." Was he . . . sneering now? He tilted his head at her, and yeah, that was definitely a _sneer. _Quinn bristled a bit, because _what in the hell?_ "You were all about it being my fault a few months ago." Quinn did not understand this dangerous mood – and it was something the others picked up on too, because they were trying to hush him.

"Noah, don't –"

"Puck, shut your-"

"I got you drunk, knocked you up, and let you lie to my best friend and all that bullshit." Puck grinned cruelly. "Hell, I didn't even really feel all that bad about it at first – and I'll be honest, you weren't even my best lay."

"Jesus Christ, Puckerman!" Mike breathed out, flabbergasted.

"No, no, Chang, virgins are seriously over-rated." Puck just kept right on going, and Quinn . . . Quinn was starting to reach her breaking point. She tried to block out his venomous words but he just. Wouldn't. Shut. Up.

"And then, yeah, the baby was born and I," his asshole veneer cracked a little there, voice breaking, but he kept right on going, "I had these delusions of like, parenthood, right? But you had to go and steal that from me, so, maybe this is the universe balancing itself out – like, I lose my family and you . . . you lose yours."

Silence. Horrified silence.

"God, Puck." Finn closed his eyes, Rachel gasping and covering her mouth. Kurt was wide-eyed, looking totally stunned. Mercedes was straightening up, pissed off, Quinn could tell, but no more than she herself was. She . . . she was _furious. _And fed up, and just . . ._ done, _with _all _of this.

"You, you damn bastard," Quinn hissed and she felt more than saw everyone taking a shocked step back – Puck only flinched slightly. But it was enough to make her want _more _– to make him _hurt_. "This is _all your fault. _I take back everything I said about you not being a Lima-loser – you're all of that, and worse, you're _exactly _like your father – an asshole who couldn't care less about his kids, or if his wife drank herself to death and –"

"Quinn." Kurt tried to stop her, grabbing an arm, but Quinn just wrenched away, angry tears blurring her vision – she did see Finn come up to Puck's side, holding onto an arm either to pull him away or hold him back, but Puck pushed at his best friend, squaring his shoulders and letting Quinn verbally thrash him.

"And I wish Finn had been Beth's father, or Mike, or Kurt, or hell, _Jewfro,_" she spat out. "Anyone but you, because no child deserves those kinds of genes. _I hate you!_"

"Yeah! Well, right back at you!" Puck shouted, fists at his sides. "You just keep right on lying! You gave her away and you said that we didn't want any contact with her! What the fucking hell, Quinn! When the hell did we make that decision? 'Cause I don't remember you ever asking me about it! So screw you, bitch! You took away _my daughter!_"

Her voice was hoarse and ragged with sobs. "You took everything from me, you told me to trust you and I was stupid enough to do it. Oh God, Puck, what the hell have you done to me? To us?"

Her eyes slammed shut for the last time, and she finally let Mercedes grasp her in her arms, even as the girl was arguing with Kurt about something – there were squealing tires and a lot of frantic shouting – incredulous tones freaking out over what had just happened. All Quinn knew was that she desperately wanted everything to stop, to go away . . .

So even as someone lifted her up and held her close, she let her dead-tired mind pull her down into unconsciousness.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **There is no amount of apologizing that would really make up for the eternity it took to finish this chapter. I got caught up in another couple of stories, and life in general has taken up lots of time, but I managed to get it down, and here it is, for better or worse. Hopefully 'better' – it was a pretty tough chapter to write. And, ironically enough, it feels a bit rushed to me . . . but I couldn't quite figure out how to slow it down.

This is the climax, and it can only get better from here on out for Puck and Quinn – I promise :) More Gleek bonding coming right up. And maybe a little Beth too.

For anybody still reading, again, so sorry! And thank you so much for stopping by :)


	5. Chapter 5

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 5**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was a weekend that felt like it lasted forever and Puck didn't talk to anyone throughout it. At least until Kurt and Finn showed up at his door on Sunday.

"What the hell?"

Finn shouldered his way in, Kurt following on his heels. There were no words said, no punches thrown his way. Puck watched as they walked into his living room and then turned to face him, crossing their arms and glaring. In almost the exact same way. It was eerie. He could only imagine what they'd be like once Mr. Hummel finally popped the question to Carole.

Puck shut the door with a slam, crossing his own arms over his Queen band shirt, completely unselfconscious about standing there in his boxers – he'd been wearing the same clothes for two days and he did not give a crap who saw him or what they thought.

It was forever and day until someone spoke, and it was Finn who kicked off the conversation, levelling Puck with a neutral sort of a stare. "Okay, so, you and Quinn, you're pretty messed up right now. And we figured that all Quinn needed was some Glee bonding time away from her mom, and you needed time alone. Well, time's up. Now what the hell is going on, Puck?"

Puck moved past them towards the kitchen, reaching for a beer, but his hands twitched at the last second and he grabbed the neck of a bottle of Coke instead, twisting the lid and gulping down a mouthful before he faced them again. They'd turned in their places to watch him, but other than that they hadn't moved or even changed their posture. He rolled his eyes – was he supposed to be _scared _of a Frankenteen and his Princess sidekick?

Puck leaned against the entryway that separated the kitchen and the living room. "You really want to know? Didn't you get enough from –"

"We understand – Quinn opted for a closed adoption without discussing it with you . . ."

"You don't _understand _a Goddamn thing, Kurt," Puck growled out. "You don't fucking understand what it is like to have _a child, _something that is only _yours_ – that's _part of you_ and then she's gone, to be with someone else, and everything in you says that it's _wrong _even when you know it's for the best . . . but I expected something – pictures or . . . she took that away and she didn't even ask me about it. Tell me what of that you think you _understand_?"

Kurt's expression softened, but his voice came out firm all the same. "I understand what it's like to lose someone important, Puck – I know it isn't even close to comparable, but I understand _loss._"

Puck wanted to say something about how dead mothers weren't anything like lost daughters, but even he could not sink to that level of lowness. He swallowed hard and stared down at his brown carpet. Kurt sighed and tried again. "Quinn is dealing with her life as best she can, with what she's got – which is her own innate strength and her _friends._"

Puck's head jerked back up and he stared at Kurt incredulously. "Friends?"

The boy in front of him actually _smiled _– not smirked, not sneered – then laughed and rolled his eyes. "You've been working with me and my father for the past couple of weeks. You drove all over and out of town to look for me when you all went temporarily insane and thought I was missing. We're _friends_. And friends don't let friends treat their baby-mommas like you've been treating Quinn."

Which was all well and good, and sure, maybe Puck did get a little warm at knowing that Kurt, despite everything said and done between them, didn't hold a grudge – actually considered him worth knowing and being friends with – but what about Finn?

Once Mercedes and Quinn had impressed upon Puck why what he did was so wrong, Puck had been pretty sure that his friendship with Finn was over. So, when he was randomly asked out to shoot some baskets? Totally unexpected and . . . well, yeah, really awesome.

Puck hadn't really wanted to ask or think about why the tall boy was suddenly willing to let things go this summer, and act like they could be buddies. Puck was a wuss in that sense, and he could now admit to himself that he'd missed Finn – missed having the ridiculous, good-natured guy around. Finn had always been his sort of Jiminy Cricket (except when they were both being stupid together, which was often) and kept him from stepping into juvy territory. He'd never even let himself think that Finn would let them be best friends again because . . . that was too much to hope for.

"Dude, I can tell what you're thinking, and stop." Finn was smiling too, the goofy, honest one that Puck couldn't stand, because it only reminded him of how much of a good guy Finn was and how much Puck _wasn't._ "You think I'd be hanging out with you and stuff if I didn't still think of you as a friend? I mean yeah, what happened was pretty damn serious and it hurt like hell, but I know you're not, like, _really_ bad_. _I want you and Quinn to be good again – I hate seeing you two so . . . so screwed up."

"You stopped Davis from throwing me into the dumpster and you issued a rather frightening warning to others – as a result, my dry cleaning bill has been significantly reduced." Kurt smiled. "And maybe I can forgive you for all the other things you used to do and say to me, Puck, if you keep trying to be the better guy we all know you're capable of being. If you keep working at the garage and let me boss you around, and be respectful to my dad. If you defend the other geeks in the hall like I know you've been doing. And if you find a way to deal with losing Beth that doesn't involve drinking or violence."

Finn nodded along to this and Puck found himself at a loss for words again. It was like everything he ever understood about the world was totally wrong, and someone had handed him a new guide to life and stuff. The gay kid he used to be such an asshole to was here (and had been for a couple weeks now), trying to help him figure his shit out, and the best friend he'd screwed over so badly was officially on his side again and _fuck_. He wasn't tearing up, damn it.

Beth was this ache in his heart he figured would always be there, but he couldn't be pissed off about it for the rest of his life. He wasn't going to be like his old man – a broken person that couldn't help but break the people around him.

"Okay," he said shortly. He turned back to the fridge, grabbed another soda and a bottle of water. He handed them to Finn and Kurt, and sat down on his couch. "I'm gonna talk to you guys, but you gotta promise that this shit never leaves this house. Because I'm still a badass, and –"

Kurt waved off his words. "Right, Puckerman, you're hot shit." Puck blinked at the swear word. "We get it. Now, tell us – tell us about Beth." Kurt's own eyes were a little misty as he said her name, his voice a little wistful. Puck had a quick flashback to hanging with Finn: _"I wasn't the only one planning and imagining. I think Kurt was designing, like, a whole wardrobe for her."_

He cleared his throat, glancing away to blink the sudden blurriness away.

"Right. Hot shit. Good that you get that. So, uh Beth . . ."

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Quinn was staring at her phone, contemplating calling her mother for the twentieth time that weekend. It was late, Sunday night – she should be home. She would be home.

"Girl, get over here – you're missing the best part."

She flicked her eyes back to the screen – it wasn't the best part, it was maybe the third or fourth best part in _10 Things I Hate About You_. She smiled faintly as Kat flashed the teacher to get Patrick out of detention. However, the best part, in Quinn's opinion, was when Patrick sang to Kat during her soccer practise – _that _was the moment that Quinn fell in love with Heath Ledger.

Mercedes put an arm around her, and Quinn leaned into the touch. Mercedes' mom put her hand on Quinn's head as she passed by the couch on her way to the kitchen. "I'm going to make us a fresh batch of popcorn – you guys want something more to drink too?"

"Sure, thanks mom." Mercedes smiled brightly up at her mother. Quinn simply nodded.

Once Mrs. Jones was gone, Mercedes leaned into Quinn's side, fixing her with an open and sincere look of concern. "I know I said I wouldn't push, but honey, this is your favourite movie, and you've barely cracked more than two smiles."

Quinn blinked at her. "I don't think I want to have this conversation here, while your mom is making us popcorn and . . . later. Just later. I promise."

"Okay. But listen – Kurt's worrying, and the girls have been blowing up my phone. They're all about respecting your space, but that just means they've been taking total advantage of my unlimited texting and bugging the crap out of me instead." She flashed a teasing eye roll and Quinn laughed shortly.

A few minutes after that, munching on some fresh, hot popcorn, she managed a few giggles as the movie wrapped up, and sang along to _'I Want You to Want Me'_ at the end. She surprised herself with laughing long and hard as Mr. Jones skidded into the living room, belting out lyrics and rocking out in a spectacularly embarrassing (albeit on-key) parental manner.

"It's such a good thing that you decided to switch from music theory and performance arts to dentistry, baby." Mrs. Jones was wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh, I think I cracked a rib."

"Thank you for your support, wife," Mr. Jones dismissed. "I know my girls won't disappoint."

Quinn felt warmth lighting up her insides, coupled with a twisting discomfort. The Jones family had been her blessing during the last couple of months of her pregnancy. They had never asked questions, never demanded anything of her other than good grades and behaviour. She had volunteered to work herself into the chores' schedule and, though it had been rare while she was still carrying Beth, she checked in with them if she was out of the house for anything other than school or Glee practise.

Now it was exactly the same, except without the initial awkwardness from her first stay. She loved it and hated it and was so, so grateful that she could have it, despite the horrible feeling that she was betraying her mother, who hadn't done anything wrong this time – she was sick and Quinn had left. _God_. There was nothing she could do right – girlfriend, mother, daughter – Quinn had sucked at all of them.

"You would totally have a spot on the New Directions, dad. You know, if it wasn't wrong and totally humiliating for me." Mercedes grinned.

"Don't say that." Quinn smiled up at Mr. Jones. "The way Glee goes, we may actually need you, Mr. Jones."

"And that's why you're my favourite, Quinn." He squeezed her shoulder. "You see, Patricia? These two clearly have better hearing than you. You must be getting old."

"Oooh," Mercedes and Quinn sounded out together, watching Mrs. Jones' eyes narrow.

"Abandon ship!" Mercedes called as she grabbed Quinn's hand and yanked her to her feet, and they ran, laughing.

Quinn called over her shoulder. "You better run for it, Mr. Jones."

"Ain't no shame in it, dad!" Mercedes added as they hit the stairs.

By the time they reached Quinn's bedroom, Mercedes had stopped laughing, and she was watching her with those dark, worried eyes again. Quinn pushed the door open, flicking the light on and turning to her friend with a sigh. "Okay, so this is going to be a short talk, because I'm tired and there isn't really much for me to say."

"Whatever you feel," Mercedes agreed.

Quinn guided Mercedes to sit on the bed, and then took a few steps back, crossing her arms and inhaling deeply. "Okay. So, I'm pretty . . . hurt, and angry, because of what Puck said to me. And part of me wants to punch his face out. Or scratch up his face. Or make it really hard for him to ever father another child."

Mercedes waited and Quinn kept quiet, wanting her friend to comment on this.

"Quinn, I think Puck was way out of line to say that crap to you . . . but did you really sign away Beth without even telling him?"

"He knew I was giving her up – we agreed it was better for her!" Quinn said defensively.

"Right – but you could have done that thing where you got pictures, where you got calls on her birthday or something. I _know _that's what Puck would have wanted – and if _I _know that, then you do too, girl."

She had known that. She knew it damn well when she signing the papers for Shelby. But damn it, Puck he was so . . . She assumed he'd get over it – that he would be back to being the badass, the 'sex shark', and maybe that had been a mistake on her part. But she had given birth to Beth, she had carried her, felt her grow for nine months in her belly and, wrong or not, that made her feel a little more entitled than Puck – she knew seeing updates on her little girl would hurt, hurt _so bad._

Quinn took a breath. "This is the next thing I wanted to say, and the last, I guess. I've been thinking about it. And I realize that I was wrong about not talking to Puck about it. I still feel I did what was right for me – for both us – but I should have had that discussion with him first. I should have been honest about what I did."

"Great, so I don't have to tell you that much." Mercedes sighed heavily before patting the place next to her the bed, moving over so she could at least half-face Quinn as she sat down. "Okay, Lady Fab – you know I love you, and with what's happening with your mom right now, I don't know if I'm doing or saying the right thing . . . but this thing that you did with Puck? You gotta make it right."

Quinn had not expected anything less from Mercedes, though she had selfishly hoped that the girl would come down completely on her side. But Mercedes would not be the amazing person she was if she had.

"What do you think I should do?" Quinn asked quietly.

"I think apologizing to Puck is a start. After that . . . I don't know – but maybe if you talk to him, you two can figure something out. And don't forget about the rest us – we're all here. For _both _of you."

Quinn opened her mouth to say something, but found her breath hitching and her eyes getting wet instead. It hit her, out of the blue, how much everything _sucked, _how hard it was to wake up every morning, knowing where her life was now and knowing how damn lucky she was too, because there were these amazing people in her life, people like Mercedes and her family, like Kurt, people who she had bullied and belittled, but were now willing to stick by her, help her, even when she didn't think she deserved it.

Mercedes wrapped her up in her arms and held her close. It took less than a minute for Quinn to return the embrace, crying silently, and whispering 'thank you' whenever she had enough breath in her lungs to do so.

When she managed to get herself under control, Mercedes leaned over to the nightstand, grabbing a few tissues and handing them Quinn. "Okay, I say that we call Tina, we call Kurt, and we ask them to come over for some emergency primping. Actually, let's call Rachel too – maybe she'll feel bad enough about everything to allow us to redo some of her wardrobe or something."

Quinn laughed hoarsely at that. "I know Kurt would think he'd died and gone to heaven if she let him at her closet again."

"And hey, why not make it a total girls-plus-Kurt, night? Do you think Santana and Brittany would be down with that? Lord knows watching Brittany hit on Kurt all night and him be a total doofus about it would be pretty entertaining."

"I think I saw on Facebook that Brittany's over at Santana's right now . . . Which might mean we're cutting on their own, uh, 'ladies' night'." Quinn gave Mercedes a look and Mercedes blinked in response, her mouth forming an 'o'.

"Huh. Okay then. That's cool. Still – you, me, Kurt, Rachel and Tina. How about it?"

With one last dab of tissue under her eyes, and after quickly blowing her nose, Quinn grinned at Mercedes, trying her best to keep any other tears at bay. "Call them up, and get them over here. I'll start up the fireplace – I think burning a few animal sweaters will do me a world of good."

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Puck chewed on the inside of his cheek as he finished off the oil change for the Ford truck engine he was currently bent over. Kurt was standing next to him, arms crossed, silently observing.

"So, what do you do on a ladies' night?" Puck asked casually, knowing perfectly well Kurt would see the question for what it was – a real unsubtle way of seeing how Quinn was doing. He cast a half glance over his shoulder. "Like, uh, a couple of days ago, you and the girls were all over at Mercedes' house, right?"

"Naked pillow fights and painting each other's toe nails," Kurt answered flatly, arching an eyebrow.

Puck let his head drop, because _of course _Kurt wouldn't make this easy – wouldn't let him get away with anything lately – and the damn annoying thing about it was that Puck couldn't even work up enough frustration to _be _annoyed. Because he actually liked the boy. He really did.

"Can't see Quinn being into that." Puck stood up straight, turning his back on the car, tilting his head towards Kurt. "Well, I totally can picture it –" and he ducked the open handed smack aimed for his shoulder, and the rag that was whipped at him immediately afterwards. "But, uh, I'm just curious about what you guys get up to."

Kurt wiped his hands on another rag. His hair was perfect and Puck had to resist the urge, hourly, to mess it up. As if he could sense this, a now clean hand came up to check on it. Puck flicked at his own nose, feeling an itchy smudge of grease; Kurt passed him the rag, shaking his head. "We get up to endless gossip, make-overs that may or may not involve painting one another's toe nails, and discussions over whatever boy issue is predominate at the moment."

Puck flicked the most honest and pleading look he could muster at Kurt, while not being a total wuss about it.

"She's okay, Puck – and so are you. She doesn't hate you. And you don't hate her, right?"

His head was shaking before Kurt finished asking the question. "No, I never . . . okay, I did, when I first found out. And I still hate what she _did, _but I don't hate her. I can't. We're both screw-ups, and we were both wrong about . . . Beth. There's no way I could handle raising her – she deserves better, and I think Ms. Corcoran is it. But, man, that doesn't mean that I want to forget she ever existed. I can't, Kurt. She's mine – she's like, this piece of me, out there, and maybe I can never be with her, but I need to know that she's doing okay. And Quinn took that away without even _telling _me about it."

Kurt inhaled deeply through his nose, blowing out his breath through parted lips. "Yes. And Quinn thinks the same, about Beth. We've covered this over, and over, _ad nauseam_."

"So why do you keep asking about it, then?" Puck challenged.

"Because you're still not telling me what you plan to do about Quinn," Kurt pointed out. "And at some point, we would like to have two of our friends in the same room without running the risk that one or both of them will try and kill the other, or burst into tears."

Puck snorted lightly but said nothing and they worked in silence for a while. Then, "I think Quinn and me have let loose all the dirty laundry there is. The next time we're together, it's gonna be awkward, but . . . I think we'll be okay. I'm not gonna start shit again – there's been way too much of that lately."

Kurt's smile was wide and genuine. "That's wonderful to hear. Now rewire that transmission – it's all wrong and I'm not letting you near the pizza I ordered until it's done right."

He scowled at the boy but he did what he was told, even as Finn came down to mock him, telling him how it only took Kurt one afternoon to teach him how to rewire the transmission in a car. Of course, Kurt scoffed at this, and proceeded to tell Puck all about Finn's screw-ups involving oil changes, and it was all going to hell in hand basket when Finn threatened to get grease all over Kurt's pretty coveralls, Hummel yelling that he would skin him alive if he came near him. Puck was debating which side to take when Kurt's phone blasted Beyonce's _Diva. _Kurt dashed for it, ducking under Finn's arms, laughing into his cell, "Mercedes, I'm being threatened by a giant – what?"

His face fell, and both Finn and Puck exchanged glances as Kurt's eyes widened. "Oh no – oh shit. Okay, are you – okay, we're on our way. Finn and Puck – I know, I'm sorry, but there's no way they're going to just stay behind. I'm right in front of them. Tell Quinn . . . right. See you in ten."

Kurt hung up and was reaching for his car keys. "We need to go _now._"

"What's happened?" Finn asked, though he was falling in line behind Kurt without hesitation as they made their way out to the boy's car. Puck took an extra few seconds to ditch the rags he'd been holding before doing the same.

"Quinn's mom is in the hospital."

Puck froze as he was halfway into the car. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that our friend's alcoholic mother is in the emergency room, and we have to go right the hell now, because who knows what Quinn is going through. She needs us."

Puck said nothing more as Finn gave him a shove, jerking him from his _what now? _funk. He flung himself into the vehicle, slamming his door shut at the same time Finn did. Kurt ripped out of that parking lot seconds later.

"I know you say things are going to be okay between you and Quinn, dude," Finn said a little breathlessly as Kurt cut someone off viciously – the cussing that followed might have been impressive to hear, but Kurt was tearing through traffic quick enough to make even Puck a little queasy. "But you seriously need to, like, not be angry at her right now."

"I can feel whatever the fuck I want, Finn," Puck growled out. "But even I'm not douche enough to come down on her when her _mom's _in the hospital. Like, really? How can you even think I'm that much of an asshole?"

Kurt slowed as they finally reached the hospital. "Give Puck some credit, Finn – even on his worse day he wouldn't sink that low. I think I see Mercedes' car from here, maybe – let's move."

Kurt was parked, somewhat crookedly but within the lines, and they were out the door and rushing in. Puck was still feeling nauseated, but now it was all about Quinn, and all the times in the past little while he'd wished that she could feel just a fraction of all the crap she'd put him through. He wasn't stupid enough to blame this on himself, but the feeling of guilt, of shame, wasn't letting up. Maybe they both deserved everything the universe decided to throw at them for being the selfish, self-absorbed jackasses they'd been. How could he have ever thought they'd been worthy of Beth?

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Quinn was not here right now. She was in some other room, some other state, some other _life, _because this was too much for one person, and thus could not be happening. Not to her, not to her mother.

"Babe, you've gotta breathe for me – the doctors haven't told us anything yet, so please, stop panicking," Mercedes was whispering into her ear, her hair, holding her tightly to her side. But her brain was blank, words were useless, and she couldn't say or do anything because nothing made sense. Except that this was all her fault. It was easy to see how she wasn'tentirely to blame, but easier still was to trace all the horrible things that had happened to her and her family, and it all lead back to her, it was always _her._

Either she said some of this out loud, or her thoughts were clearly displayed on her face, because a moment later someone else moved in close to her. "No, no sweetheart." That sounded like Mrs. Jones, and another arm came around Quinn. "Oh, please don't, this is just an accident, I'm sure. Wait – here comes the doctor."

She raised her head, her hair falling back from her face, and she saw a tall woman, caramel skin, lightly freckled, and curly brown hair. She stopped in front of them with a kind, business like smile. Quinn knew those kinds of smiles well – her mother was the best there was at flinging them out on a moment's notice.

"Hello, is this – are you Quinn?"

She nodded, her throat and tongue maintaining her silence for her. She couldn't have choked out a note even if threatened at gunpoint.

"Listen, we're sorry if we made you worry – your mother is fine. My name is Dr. Moreau." The smile became a little softer, a little more genuine. "She just suffered a fall – slipped in the kitchen, hit her head on the counter and got herself a nasty concussion, some pretty spectacular bruises, and couple of cuts from some broken glass. She's just come back from a CT-scan, and it all looks to be in working order. We're going to keep her here overnight, to be safe, but she should be fine to go home tomorrow."

Quinn absorbed this information, understood what was being said, but it took another minute for the relief to fully hit. Even then, she didn't get to bask in it, because there was an explosion of noise and people calling her name. She turned as best she could in the embrace she was in, and there was half her Glee club – Kurt, Finn, Rachel, Tina . . . and Puck.

"It's fine, guys," Mercedes called as they rushed over. "She's fine. She just slipped and fell at the apartment."

"Can I see her?" Quinn asked hesitantly, and her own voice sounded strange to her. Very timid and raspy.

"Of course – one or two of you can go in with her, if you want – the rest will have to wait," Dr. Moreau addressed the crowd standing behind Quinn. There was murmured agreement and she turned to face her friends, swallowing before speaking.

"I'm going to go in alone, if that's okay with everyone?"

"Oh sweetie, you do whatever you need to." Mrs. Jones squeezed her close for a moment before stepping back. Mercedes had stepped away to allow her mother to hug Quinn, and now she moved back in to give a firm, warm hug of her own.

"We're right here, if you need us," Mercedes said loud enough to encompass everyone. Quinn found herself looking over at Puck, who ducked his head in a nod, and offered up a faint, hesitant smile. Her own lip twitched upwards – it was an apology and an acceptance of an apology, or she'd like to think that was the case. Kurt gave her a wave and an encouraging smile, and with that final bit of wordless support she turned to follow the doctor to her mother's room.

"Here we are – she's awake and anxious to see you," Dr. Moreau said. "Did you have any other questions?"

Quinn shook her head and the doctor left her. She lingered in the doorway before fully stepping into the room. Her mom looked up instantly and Quinn gasped. The bruises were awful – encompassing the right side of her face, and then there were cuts on her arms and she was flinging herself at the bed before she knew what she was doing.

"Mom, oh God, mom," she cried, wiping at tears futilely. Her mother lifted her injured arms and Quinn was in them, burying her face in mom's chest like she was six years old and had just fallen from the monkey bars.

"Quinn, my baby – it's okay, I'm fine, and it looks a lot worse than it really is. Shhh, sweetie, okay, it's fine." The steady murmur of reassurances actually didn't do very much to reassure Quinn – she just felt that same heavy, sick feeling of guilt well up in her.

She gasped out, "It's my fault. Oh God, you probably had something to drink as soon as I left, and I don't blame you! How could your own daughter abandoning you help with _anything_!"

"Quinn, _Quinn._" Her mother had been struggling to say over the top of Quinn's rambling. "God, sweetheart, _no. _I forbid you to think that way. This wasn't anyone's fault. It was just a silly accident."

"It's okay, mom, you won't disappoint me," Quinn said softly, sitting back and trying to scrub the tears off her face. "You can tell me the truth."

Her mother looked tired all of a sudden, but her smile – it was there, it was real. "Of course you don't believe me. I've been such a terrible mother to you this past year – for the past few years. Oh Quinnie."

In the place of the guilt, cold and sweeping, a crackle of hope burst to life in Quinn's chest. She took in her mom's injured face and arms, the limp strands of her hair, and her clear, _lucid _eyes.

"I . . . I didn't drive you to this? I was afraid that maybe you'd hurt yourself – because of me." It hurt to say the words, but that pain was fleeting as her mother shook her head vehemently.

"Oh, oh no, baby." Her mother held her close. "No, no, it wasn't anything like that! I would never leave you that way, ever! Today I was thinking about everything, and I just was so angry at myself for putting you through so much that I threw the scotch against the wall . . . and then started throwing everything else too – eventually I calmed down enough to start emptying the bottles in the sink, but I didn't think to clean up the other mess first and well . . ." She indicated the cuts on her face and her arm. "I slipped and landed on the broken glass. I was a total and complete stupid klutz, but Quinnie – I'm a sober one."

Quinn let out a laugh, wet sounding and probably inappropriate, but it was just a gut reaction – because she _believed _her mom. For the first time in a long, long time, she believed that things might actually be getting _better._

She threw her arms around her again, mindful of the injuries, and pressed her face into her mom's hair – it smelled strongly of hospital, but underneath was that faint scent of dish detergent, lemony and fresh, and absolutely nothing of scotch or whiskey or anything alcoholic. It made a smile break out onto her face, and she laughed again, for the sake of laughing, and felt her mom do the same.

They pulled back and the same wide smile adorned their faces. Quinn bit her lower lip before speaking. "I, I can come back if you want."

Her mother's smile faded. "Quinn, I don't want you to feel as though you have to. And a few days sobriety isn't anything to brag about – there's still a long way for me to go."

"I know that, but I think it would be better if I were there to help you," Quinn insisted.

Her mom reached out to tuck some of Quinn's loose waves behind her ear, then cradled her face with that hand. She smiled and her eyes gleamed a little. "Everything is better when you're with me, sweetie. And I will always want you with me – but I also want you to be happy and comfortable – if you want to spend the rest of your summer with the Jones family, that is completely fine with me. Our house will be finished by then, and we can move back in together and have ourselves a fresh start."

Quinn still wasn't sure if that was what she wanted – not after this. That this wasn't the result of her mom's drinking was wonderful, but Quinn could have been there and helped her get to hospital sooner, or even prevented the accident altogether.

"Stop blaming yourself," her mom chided gently. Quinn ducked her head, refusing to admit that was exactly what she was doing. "Did you come here with Mercedes?"

"Yes, and Mrs. Jones."

"Great, that's even better. Do you mind getting her for me, sweetie? We can talk more after, I promise, I just need to talk this over with her."

Quinn frowned. "If I want to come home with you, neither of you can stop me."

"I know." Her mother straightened her blankets as she spoke. "But I need another adult's opinion on the situation, and I want to give you some time to think about it. Go on, go be with Mercedes and whenever you're ready to come back and talk some more, you do that."

She reached forward and Quinn met her halfway – they hugged tightly and for a good, long while. Eventually, Quinn found her way back to her friends and Mrs. Jones.

"She's fine," Quinn said, repeating the doctor's words. "It's all perfectly fine – she wants to speak with you, Mrs. Jones, if that's okay?"

"That's great," the other woman replied, giving her shoulder a squeeze once she'd stood up and walked over to Quinn. "Will you be hanging out at the hospital for a while longer."

"I think so." Quinn accepted Mercedes' hand as it slid into her own.

"Good to know," Mrs. Jones said, and Quinn told her the room number before she disappeared down the hall.

When she'd left she turned to Mercedes, and to Kurt who had come over to join them. The others lingered a little further back. She smiled widely. "She's sober. It wasn't . . . it was just an accident, she slipped on something she'd spilled – she's trying to get better. I think she might actually get better."

"That's _great_!" Kurt said at the same that Mercedes cheered happily and wrapped Quinn up in a hug. Kurt joined in a second later and Quinn was thrilled with all the hugs and smiles and just everything that was happening. Then she noticed something out of the corner of her eye.

"Where's Puck?"

Finn shifted nervously. "I . . . I'm not sure. He just sort of disappeared once you left."

"I think he went upstairs," Tina offered, and the look she gave Quinn . . . Quinn remembered what was upstairs, on the fourth floor, specifically. It filled her with a new sort of heaviness, and a brand new wave of guilt and sadness, but this was old and familiar – and it was time she did something about it.

She turned to Mercedes, who was watching her closely and concernedly. "I'll be right back, guys – if your mom gets back before I do, tell her I'll be up in the maternity ward."

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Beth was way cuter than any of these babies. Puck felt that, even though he was biased, this was an indisputable fact. His baby girl could win prizes for how pretty and adorable she was. Still, there were definitely some contenders for second place. He watched the small, red-faced bundles, some of them only hours old. He wondered if any were the result of a mistake, like the one he and Quinn had made . . . and then he shook his head, because however fucked up he and Quinn were, his daughter was _not _a mistake.

Suddenly, Quinn was there; he could feel her even if he didn't turn and see her. It was déjà vu to a couple of months ago, with her sweaty and wrapped in a flimsy hospital robe, having just given birth to Beth. He'd told her that he was in love with her – which was true then, but he wasn't sure about now. But even if he wasn't _in love_ with Quinn, he definitely _loved_ her.

No matter what Quinn had done or said, then and since then, she would always be the second half of Beth – the woman that delivered his baby into this world. And she was hurting just like he was that they couldn't keep her. His anger over what she'd done had pretty much faded – Kurt and Finn had sort of helped him see the light, helped him deal. Quinn messed up, but the _whole thing _was so, so messed up. He couldn't say what he would have done if he'd been in her shoes with her parents and all _that _screwed-upness.

"Our daughter is definitely way prettier than any of these babies," she said decisively and Puck let out a short laugh.

"We made one beautiful baby, that's for damn sure," he said with a grin.

They were quiet after that, but the ice was broken at least. Puck hadn't really turned to look at her, even when she moved in close enough for her reflection to appear in the glass. Quinn rested two fingers on the bottom edge of the glass, and Puck watched out of the corner of his eye as she stared at each baby in turn. After a while, he offered, "I'm sorry about your mom. That's . . . really shitty."

"It's not that bad – it wasn't a drinking too much thing, it was a slipping on a wet floor thing." Quinn smiled brightly at this. "Maybe things are finally going right for her – I'm not even afraid to jinx them by saying that." A baby started to fuss a little, soft cries bringing a nurse over. Puck watched and he could see Quinn's reflection shift. The smile was gone, and her eyes were shining.

"You . . . you really don't want to see Beth at all?" he asked, his voice cracking and it was so hard to get the words out.

"I do," she whispered. "Puck, you have no idea. I'm her _mother. _That's my baby I had to hand over. But I _had to. _The idea of only being allowed snippets of her life – of only getting pictures or phone calls once a year – oh my God." Puck felt lousy for bringing her down from her high over her mother, but he also felt relieved. He'd needed to hear those words – he'd been pretty damn sure Quinn felt that way, but hearing it made all the difference to him.

"So you thought if you never got to see her, you could –"

"Not forget – I know I'll never forget. But pain – if you don't expose yourself to it, sometimes you forget how much it hurts. I'll never forget Beth, but maybe the pain of losing her . . . maybe that I can forget, someday."

Puck didn't think that would ever happen. He didn't say as much, because he hoped he was wrong. He stared at a little baby girl that had dark fuzzy hair and hands that were so small that it did something to his insides just seeing them.

"I get it, why you did what you did. I hate that you did it. But I'm not angry anymore. Can you forgive me for . . ." He stopped. He wasn't sure what he wanted to ask forgiveness for. The horrible crap he'd thrown at her last week? The whole getting her pregnant in the first place?

"I already did," she said, and he wasn't sure what she was specifically talking about, but it felt good all the same.

Another baby cried out, but it took less than a minute for him to settle down, little face going relaxed in sleep despite being all scrunched up and pouty. Puck let loose a little huff of laughter even if this was some kind of weird torture – why had he come up here again? He should stop listening to some of his impulses – maybe even _all _of his impulses. They had never done him any real good.

Quinn made a little noise, somewhere between a small laugh and a repressed sob. Puck wanted to hug her, but he still wasn't sure that she'd let him. He settled from standing closer to her, their shoulders almost touching as they stared at the babies, wrapped in their pink and blue blankets, tiny and fragile.

"Rachel said I might find you here."

Puck and Quinn whipped around and there was Ms. Corcoran. She smiled at them, soft and sympathetic. Maybe. Puck was tense all over and not too sure about what he was seeing. "Hey you two. Listen, don't think too much right now – just follow me, I want you to . . . to have some tea with me. Let's go."

Quinn took a halting step, and Puck could feel her nervousness – it was in tune with his own. "I . . ." she croaked out, and then cleared her throat. "I need to be with my mom, tonight – can we . . . tomorrow, in the afternoon?"

Miss Corcoran turned to Puck. "That okay with you?"

"Sure, yeah, I guess," Puck said uncertainly. He could reschedule his garage time with Kurt and his dad without any problems.

"All right, I'll see you two tomorrow – at three, after Beth's nap."

She left Puck and Quinn alone, looking directly at each other at last, not knowing what to say. Puck wasn't a guy to use his words too often – so he just reached out a hand and smiled. Barely a moment's pause, and then Quinn smiled back. She reached out too, and entwined her fingers with his.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **And once again, I have no excuse that would serve, so I'll just apologize from the bottom of my heart – I'm so sorry for the eternity between updates. I lost my mojo for writing this story – and then Glee went along the same path I was planning to go on (though my Quinn didn't go crazy, obviously), and I wondered if I should completely change my idea, but eventually I just decided to keep going :)

I am definitely still planning on finishing this fic – I just have one more chapter to go, I think. Many thanks to the few of you that read this, and if you're still reading, even more thanks and apologies and hugs!


	6. Chapter 6

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Chapter 6**

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Quinn was nervous as she stood in front of Shelby's front door. Puck was standing behind her, nearly pressed up against her back, and she knew he was freaking out just as much as she was. Neither of them had been this close to Beth since they gave her up what felt like an eternity ago.

"We don't gotta do this," he said quietly, but she could hear the lie in his voice. There was no way she could rest easy if she lost this one opportunity to hold her daughter, and if she was feeling that way now, Puck had to be out of his mind with need to push past this painted red door and swoop their girl up into his arms.

"We're doing this," she said firmly. She lifted her hand, rested her knuckles against the wood for a brief second, and then knocked.

Two seconds later, they were facing Shelby. She felt Puck sag as they both took in the fact that Beth wasn't in the woman's arms, but she had to be somewhere in the house, so Quinn tried for a smile. "We're a little late, sorry." They had arrived five minutes early, and spent the past ten minutes staring at the house.

"No worries, come on in." Shelby stood back from the doorway and let them through. It was a nice home, small but clean and comfortable. Shelby lived on her own with Beth, so what more did she need but what she had? Everything was baby-proofed and Quinn spotted a play mat littered with soft toys and rattles on the floor of the living room. Her eyes caught sight of pictures lining the mantelpiece – pictures of Beth on her own, or in Shelby's arms.

"Did you guys want something to drink? I have Coke, Ginger Ale, and way too much apple juice. Tea too, if Earl Grey is to your liking."

There was a stretch of awkward silence before Quinn gave a small nod. "I'll have a Ginger Ale, if that's okay."

"Yeah, uh, a Coke for me." Puck was staring at the toys.

It took several minutes of drinks being served, Shelby making her own cup of tea, and then each of them sipping robotically, before the older woman put her mug down to speak at last.

"I think I made a mistake, accepting Quinn's closed adoption." She didn't give them a chance to say anything in response. "Beth is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I love her more than I ever thought would be possible – but I know what it is to give up a child. To have that child come looking for answers." She was smiling weakly, "Rachel wasn't put up for adoption – these two kind men wanted a daughter, and I thought it would be easy, it would be profitable – but I was young and stupid, and didn't understand what it is to be a mother. Quinn, you know what I mean. To feel a life grow inside you . . ."

Quinn's eyes dropped to the counter. It had been indescribable, and then she'd been taken away – Quinn hadn't understood the true meaning of heartbreak until those weeks after. No amount of comfort from friends or her mom could soften the jagged edges left behind when Beth was ripped away, except that small bit of reassurance that it had been _her_ choice, made so that Beth was better off – Quinn had to take care of her mother, and everything else would improve on its own.

"I messed up," Quinn said, voice low. "First when I didn't tell Puck what I did, but . . . I didn't fully realize the consequences, and for that I am so sorry – so sorry, Puck, Ms. Corcoran. This must be – you don't have to do this, for us."

"We appreciate you letting us have this chance to say good-bye for good." Puck's own voice cracked there, and Quinn reached out a hand, grabbing the tanned, calloused fingers tightly in her own.

"That's not why I invited you here." Her smile kinder than Quinn would've thought it could be, considering how she sent a boy to spy on her first daughter, a boy who ended up wooing her and humiliating her.

Then again, Quinn helped Mr. Schue's wife fake a pregnancy and almost gave him her baby to maintain the lie; Quinn wasn't about to throw rocks from within her glasshouse. Puck squeezed her hand tightly, his expression one of tentative hope. Quinn could almost share the sentiment now, but her fear of being all things wrong and corrupting for her child was choking the hope right out of her.

"I've been thinking a lot since I saw you last, Puck. Letting go of your daughter . . . I know better than anyone that it's almost impossible to do, and that one day Beth might have that same curiosity Rachel did. It works for some, giving up their kids for better lives, but I . . . I don't think that's what you two need, and believe it or not, I do care about you two – you gave me this wonderful gift. I know you're good kids, based on what Mr. Schuester has told me and what I've seen for myself. There's a lot you both can offer her and I love her more than anything – so I want her to have those things. I don't want her to ever wonder why she was given up. She'll know she was loved, she was cared for right from the beginning. Do you understand?"

Quinn was staring at Puck, who looked like he barely dared to believe what was being offered. His face went inscrutable when he noticed Quinn looking, turning away and then asking, gruffly, "Is this, like, you'll send us pictures, and we can see her maybe once in a while?"

"No – if that's what you want, that's fine with me. But what I'm offering is that you be here for her. Birthdays for sure, maybe other holidays, we can see what works best. Perhaps a monthly phone call when she gets to be older, if she wants it. Whatever you think would be easiest – and yes, pictures, drawings. The fact is that I'm on my own with this, so your help wouldn't be remiss." Her mouth lifted in a tired smile, and Quinn noticed for the first time the heavy layer of make up under her eyes.

Puck opened his mouth again, but a sharp cry interrupted whatever he was going to ask. Shelby's smile became less tired and more fond. "That would be the end of nap time. C'mon you two, let's get some formal introductions out of the way, shall we?"

She walked down a hallway off the living room, and Quinn went to follow, then froze. That was her daughter making that noise, crying, and being soothed by Shelby. Puck was behind her again, pressed in close. A hand came up to rest on her arm. "What do you think? Tell the truth."

"I'm terrified," she whispered, hardly daring to speak louder. "I'm so scared, Puck. Can we handle this, really? I tried to cut ties completely for a reason, as much as you might hate me for it."

"I get it, Quinn, it was a defensive move. You saw all the hurt coming, and you tried to cut it off before it could get here. But it was always gonna hurt, always. I don't think us being any farther away is going to make it less."

"This could be such a disaster, Puck, I mean, what if we – she's better off here, with her, I know she is, but even if she's Shelby's daughter now, every fibre of my being knows she's _mine._"

"We can deal with that later, Quinn, c'mon. We can be the cool aunt and uncle for now – all the cute with none of the responsibility." He was trying to sound aloof, but Quinn knew that the yearning in him was as powerful as ever. And suddenly she didn't care about the wisdom in this arrangement, in the potential for more pain down the road – those soft gurgles and laughs were calling to her.

She grabbed at his hand blindly, and held her head high as she walked down the hall. They stopped before the doorway of a room, a nursery, where Shelby held Beth close, the baby's head swivelling towards them. Puck's breath stuttered and then stopped. Quinn swallowed hard. Shelby just grinned. "C'mon in, guys – I'm just going to get her next meal ready, and then maybe clean up the play area. You stay with her."

She walked towards them, and then carefully held out Beth. Quinn was reaching for her before she even realized her arms were out, and then the baby was in her arms, warm, smooth, soft, smelling of powder and soap. Shelby made sure Quinn had her secure in her arms before disappearing. Beth made some noises, sounding a little scared, a little worried. Puck was leaning in, a shaking hand resting on Beth's back, almost encompassing all of her.

"Hey baby girl," he croaked out.

Those words were Quinn's undoing. She started crying, but she tried to keep the sobs down, quieting herself. Beth made a distraught noise, small hands reaching for Quinn's face. She loved her so much – she had loved her from the moment they put Beth in her arms, and maybe she'd tried to lie to herself, but she couldn't now, and probably never again.

Puck was humming (_"It only hurts for a little while, that's what they tell me, that's what they say." _Quinn filled in the words in her mind) and Beth went silent, one tiny hand clutching at Quinn's face.

"She's gonna be a knock-out, like her mom," Puck said softly, reaching up to put an arm around Quinn's shoulders without disturbing the hand he kept braced against Beth's back.

"Hopefully she'll inherit some of her dad's badassery – so that she can keep the boys in line," was her raspy, muffled response.

Puck snorted, and it was a repeat of all their other conversations about Beth. Quinn knew she would have a glimpse into their baby girl's future now. She knew that they would have pictures if nothing else, and maybe phone calls and invitations to birthdays and graduations. Something in her settled. Beth deserved the best. Shelby was a strong, capable woman, who knew what it was like to lose a child by choice. Quinn still had to finish high school, help support her mother through her alcoholism and her divorce. She had to be a kid, and grow up, and go to university. Puck had matured a lot in the past year, but he still had quite a ways to go too.

In the meantime, Beth would be loved and raised by her new mother – and Quinn and Puck could provide extra love and care when they could. Beth was one lucky little girl. She had three parents, and some people only got the one, or none, or parents that just didn't give a damn. Quinn considered herself blessed with her mom, because she was trying so hard and loved her so much. Puck's mother was the same. Kurt struck gold in the parent lottery.

Her thoughts whirling back to her own motherhood, Quinn realized that everything would be okay. Beth had found her way back into her life in the only way that made sense for either them.

"We can do this." Quinn looked up at Puck, feeling at peace, feeling _found,_ for the first time in a long, long while. "We can do this, and we will do this. Together?"

"Together," Puck agreed. Then his face twisted up. "Except, you know, maybe not _together _together, 'cause I think we can both agree that hot as you are, and smokin' as I am, we aren't exactly the best –"

"Puck, not in front of the munchkin, please," Quinn hushed him with a laugh. "But yes. I get it. We'll be friends. I think we could be good at that, if we try."

"Not just for Beth either," Puck said with that boyish smile very, very few people got to see. "You're a pretty cool person, Quinn Fabray."

"Thank you, Noah." She laughed again when he made a face at the use of his given name, and suddenly Beth was giggling too. They both stared down at her in wonder, and there was a flash. Shelby had appeared, holding a bottle and digital camera.

"Here." She handed Quinn the bottle and then stood back. "Let's get another one, shall we? Smile at the camera, guys! Beth, over here sweetie!"

The camera flashed.

A few hours later, Quinn was with her mom, holding a fresh print out. In it, Puck and Quinn were smiling, wide and true, the baby had her mouth clasped firmly around her bottle, and she knew that this picture was going in the new blank photo album she'd bought on her way home; across the front she was going to put simply _Beth._

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I can't believe they didn't kill each other in the end," Finn muttered. "You have no idea, dude. Sometimes I was afraid to leave them alone in a room – I was pretty sure if I did, I'd have a body to clean up when I got back."

Puck would have snorted derisively at this, but he'd seen Kurt wield blowtorches, wrenches, hacksaws and other potentially lethal tools, with a frightening ease and grace. And it went without saying that Rachel's brand of crazy could be pretty damn scary all on its own. "Trust me I know – I was there when the whole truce thing fell apart and scissors were thrown at certain people's heads." He pointed at himself. "It's a good thing Artie took over directing. Making Tina assistant director was pretty damn inspired too. I think otherwise Kurt and Rachel would have used their little kiddie minions to wage war."

Finn chuckled a little, "Yeah – hey, did you text Quinn?"

"Yeah, she says her mom's got the stitching done on those costumes – we can pick her up, and she'll have them ready."

"Awesome," Finn breathed out. "Kurt would've have scalped me if those weren't done."

"It was his idea to ask Mrs. Fabray to help, don't think he would have killed you for that."

"You haven't seen either him or Rachel in a week. I can't even begin to describe how ready they were to kill _anyone _who could possibly mess up _their _play." He shuddered dramatically and Puck conceded the point; these gleeks were hardcore when it came to show business.

Quinn was waiting at the bottom of the stairs that lead to her apartment, her mom waving at them from the top as they pulled in.

"Hey boys," she called down. "You in a hurry, or do you want something to drink before you head out?"

"That's really cool of you, Mrs. Fabray." Finn tilted his head back to speak to her. "But we've gotta get these down there, fast."

"I hear you – Kurt's been texting me at least three times a day for the last week about finishing these." She was grinning and shaking her head. "I'll be there for the curtain up in a few hours then – good luck!" She headed back inside.

Quinn was rolling her eyes. "He wasn't just texting my mom. And Rachel was getting in on it too today. It was their antics that put them behind on wardrobe and set making, I don't understand why the rest of us had to pay the price."

"It will be over as of today – well, tomorrow," Finn amended. "But I figure if it all goes smoothly today, the second show tomorrow should be cake, right?"

There was a heavy sigh from Quinn. "God, I hope so. I love Kurt a lot, but this was a test of that love if ever there was one."

"So why are headin' over so early?" Puck asked, loading the costumes into the back seat, hanging some and being extraordinarily gentle with others – Kurt had been texting him too, and there were threats made that had Puck distinctly aware of how their next session in the garage could play out: namely with lots of bloody 'accidents.' "The play doesn't start for a couple of hours."

Finn did that shifty thing he did when he was trying to hide something, and failing very hard at it. He'd been doing that since showing up at Puck's door, demanding that they head to the community centre right away, because they'd been summoned by Rachel and Kurt to assist in the final stages of getting ready. Quinn eyed Finn speculatively.

"It's nothing, guys, just trying to keep two of our friends from committing homicide. Everyone else is going to be there too." He was pulling out from the parking lot, and Puck was pretty damn sure even if he didn't need to be keeping his eyes on the road, he'd be avoiding eye contact right now.

Puck exchanged a quick look with Quinn via the rear-view mirror. Quinn arched an eyebrow but then shrugged. Puck nodded back, because whatever they had planned couldn't be _that _bad.

It isn't until they were at the community centre and bringing the costumes inside that Puck got a little concerned – because this was the same geek patrol that thought _Push It _was a good idea for a school assembly. And Kurt had the entire football team do _Single Ladies, _which Puck considered a confusing memory of one of the most awesome and embarrassing things he'd ever done in his life.

Maybe he should be scared, was what his mind informed him. It was too late though – they were in the darkened theatre, Finn ushering Quinn and Puck into seats right in the middle, before rushing to the stage, a single spotlight achingly bright right in the middle. He kept on an eye on the red, glowing exit sign; he totally wasn't above bolting like he was the QB in a championship game if this ended up being _Single Ladies, _the reprise.

Kurt stepped into the light, and he smiled warmly at them both.

"Well, surprise surprise, we brought you here to sing to you."

"That's what I figured," Quinn said drily as Puck relaxed a little bit; there would be no unitard for him then, that was a relief (not that he wouldn't rock it – because he so would, he could rock anything). "But I'm not too clear on the why."

Finn appeared next to Kurt. "Look, things have been crazy this year and this summer. But I think out of all of us, you two have been the ones who haven't been able to catch a break, to move on and stuff."

Mercedes came up behind Kurt, leaning on him a little. "And we know that there's been drama between, uh, well, everyone here. And that there's been some pretty big screw-ups."

That was putting it lightly. Puck stared at Finn, still unable to fully get the fact that his best friend was trying to repair everything Puck had ruined so completely. There was the giant oaf, smiling at him and understanding and so damn _nice. _He stood next to the gay kid that would soon be his stepbrother, the gay kid he and Puck both used to torment and now would call friend and family. There were the rest of the gleeks, forming ranks around the three already on the stage, grinning at him and Quinn, people whose names he hadn't known at the beginning of last school year, who Quinn had either ignored or looked down upon.

Their best friends in the _whole freaking _world.

He sighed and figured the least he could do was let them sing him a stupid song. Wasn't that their preferred method of communicating now?

Rachel fussed with her brown hair as she spoke. "We want you to know that no matter what, we're going to stick by you. I think this year has proven that we can overcome some fairly impressive obstacles, and remain friends throughout. And right now, you two have had some big obstacles to overcome."

"There may be more on the way too, considering everything." Kurt didn't specify what that 'everything' was, but he didn't need to. "And, well, Puck, it's a long, winding road, you know?"

That was a reference to a conversation he'd had with Kurt and Finn not a day after the whole agreement with Shelby. (_"The screw-up is gonna happen, you know?" he'd said, staring down at his slice of pizza. "I'm a fuck-up and that means screwing up, a lot." _

_Kurt had flung a waded up napkin at him and Finn nudged him hard. Then Kurt kicked at him, forcing Puck to meet his gaze._

_"Puck, you've already improved by leaps and bounds, and that means that this road you're walking, uphill, bumpy and all – you're going to keep on walking it, and you'll be able to look your daughter in the eye at the end of it, because you never stopped or fell back." _

_Finn nodded, grinning. "And if anything, you have Kurt and me to kick your rear in gear if you ever lose your way."_)

Mercedes winked at Quinn. "And you know I have your back, Lady Fab, no matter how bad it might get, or even just to have a squeal-off, 'cause your girl is one adorable little princess."

"The point is, we want you to know that no matter how tough your todays are," Rachel said with all the dramatic flair she possessed – which was too damn much, in Puck's modest opinion. "Your tomorrows are going to be better, because you have _us._"

The music cued up, and Quinn both groaned and burst out laughing, while Puck shook his head, unable to hold back his disbelieving grin. He had only just learned what the word _cliché _meant, and _this_, this song fit the definition pretty perfectly, in his mind.

Rachel's sweet voice (because the girl did have talent, no lie), started it off: _"The sun'll come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there'll be sun." _Kurt took over the next line, also kicking ass and taking names with his own vocal talents.

Then the bass line jumped in and _Artie started rapping. _Quinn really cracked up then, clapping in delight, and Puck choked out an unrestrained bark of laughter himself, almost bending over double as their glee club took a classic show tune and _hip-hopped it up._

They mashed it up with _It's a Hard-Knock Life, _and somehow it all made sense and it was _good _besides. It finished with them in perfect, choral harmony, without musical accompaniment, holding that final note for a ridiculously long time. Both Puck and Quinn were up on their feet, whistling and cheering before song ended, and they kept it up.

"Oh, that was fantastic!" Rachel clapped herself, beaming at everyone. "I'm so glad we're doing that as our finale – Puck, Quinn, you have to join us at the end of the show!"

"But we technically didn't contribute anything, other than the occasional bit of homicide prevention," Puck pointed out.

"Or lending my mother as last second costume support," Quinn added.

Kurt waved that off. "Who cares? It's an excuse to sing and show off and be fantastic together. When we're on a stage, you have to admit that there's _nothing _we can't do or be."

There was no arguing with that.

The small auditorium filled up with about two hundred or so parents, families of both the performing kids and the behind-the-scenes crew, so when the entire audience was on their feet, whistling and cheering themselves hoarse as the glee club plus the cast and crew of _Annie _did their finale thing, Puck felt that invincibility Kurt was talking about. Somehow, it clicked within him that things would be okay – that even when it all _wasn't_ okay, when that road he walked well and truly sucked, he had this insane group of people to help him out, share the load.

Cliché as it was, that meant that he really was looking forward to all his tomorrows.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Epilogue**

The annual St. Anne's Hospital Car Wash was something of an event in their neighbourhood. It was usually a combination of barbecue, car washing, and the inevitable water fights. This year, the Cheerios made sure that they were seen as local news was still occasionally talking about their epic win at Nationals. This meant Kurt and his fellow cheerleaders were in full uniform. He didn't mind it so much, as the material was light enough to not be totally cumbersome, even when soaking wet.

This car wash, however, would be considered an event for an entirely different reason this year.

Puck and Santana had decided, after the entire Kurt-gone-missing-but-not-really debacle, that this would be the day to settle their bet as to who could pull more phone numbers in cheerleading uniform.

And as Santana would never let Puck forget what his manly posturing had proposed, they were both in the same uniform, skirt and all.

It was mildly disturbing, but that didn't stop Kurt from joining in Artie, Tina and Mike in recording this for posterity. It must be documented from every conceivable angle.

"I can't figure out how he's doing it," Artie mused, watching as yet another girl, this one college-aged it seemed, handed Puck a piece of paper. The mohawked boy shot Santana a triumphant look, even as her seductive posing with the watering hose got her another pair of boys on the approach.

"It's a confidence thing," Tina answered, zooming in with her camera. "He's totally putting out _I rock this and am completely secure in my masculinity _vibes, so, you know, girls – and some women – like that."

"It has to be more than that," Kurt disagreed, because he didn't think he could ever erase the image of Puck's hairy legs poking out from beneath that way too short skirt. "This is definitely not at all flattering to his figure. I say this both as a fashionista and someone with an attraction to males – he is not even remotely appealing to me right now."

"Ditto," came Quinn's voice from behind him as she washed a window leisurely. "I think he could probably do all right in a kilt through. We should see if he'd be willing to pull that off for another occasion."

"No, I have a kilt outfit all planned out for September – I will not be imitated," Kurt stated firmly.

He got water splashed at him from Mercedes, and pretty soon all people with cameras were pulling back to a safe distance as the fifth water fight of the afternoon broke out. Kurt had been soaked several times in the last hour and had pretty much resigned himself to being wet and gross for the rest of the day.

"How did yesterday go?" he asked Quinn quietly, once they got back to actually rinsing off the SUV they were cleaning.

"Pretty well." Quinn smiled sweetly and serenely. It was an expression he was seeing more and more of as the summer neared its end. It was good, knowing that she and Puck were finally healing from all the past hurt. "Beth's started crawling and Puck's pretty convinced he can get her saying 'Puck' before she's six months old." She rolled her eyes. "Of course, Shelby and I keep telling him that it's probably better if she says dada or something – we could end up with a six month old dropping the f-bomb as her first word."

"I want to be classy and say that wouldn't be hilarious – but it so would be." Mercedes was laughing even as she said it. "You need to have a camera on hand for that precious moment."

"_Hey! I see more chatting than car cleaning! If you have the energy to gab, you have the energy to wash, rinse, wax and give a complimentary performance of Rose Royce's classic _'Car Wash'_, complete with flawless round-offs. That goes double for you, Porcelain!"_

They'd hopped back to work before that mega-phone tirade was even half-over, and Kurt snuck a quick look at Coach Sylvester at her position under a large tree, shaded and comfortable in an _armchair _of all things, being fanned by two Cheerios.

"I don't think I'll be able to handle another year of her crazy," Kurt murmured to Quinn and Mercedes. "So fair warning, I may be quitting soon."

"She's been considering making you head Cheerio – are you sure about that?" Quinn finished cleaning the side-view mirror, frowning in disappointment at him. "It would be very cool to have you in charge. Sort of."

"I don't know." Kurt sighed. "I just really want Glee club to be my priority this year – I want us to get to Nationals and win it all. I'd be dividing my attention between two really demanding clubs, and you just know Coach would use me as a pawn in her war against Mr. Schuester."

Quinn gave a soft noise of agreement, because that was the truth of their crazy high school, and then Brittany was jumping on him from behind, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, demanding that he help her wash a small, sleek Camaro that had just pulled up.

Mercedes and Quinn burst out laughing, refusing to explain why, which seemed to be the leitmotif of his last month of summer – too bad he had no idea what the hell it was supposed to represent, if anything at all. Maybe his best girl friends were just messing with him, but it was more likely there was an inside joke he was missing, which was _frustrating._

The Camaro was a nice piece of work, but it was a relatively small car in comparison to the SUV, pick-up truck, and mini-van the others were washing. Brittany smiled happily at him as he picked up his cloth and got to work. Somewhere off to the side Santana crowed, "That's _two in one shot, _Puckerman. I am so bringing you down, _cabrón._"

"Watch it, _mamacita, _I've still got at least half a dozen housewives on their way here!"

"Huh, this isn't exactly a kid friendly environment, is it?" The voice was light and teasing, and Kurt glanced up to see a blinding smile, followed by wide, dark eyes and a jaw line that was just . . . nice.

"We probably should put up a parental disclaimer somewhere," Kurt agreed, trying very hard not to blush because he'd dealt with good-looking guys before, and they were always tragically straight. Even if he somehow, miraculously, stumbled across another gay male in _Lima, Ohio, _he doubted that particular gay male would be attracted to _him._

Brittany was pressed a little close to his side, but he couldn't move over that much, because that would put him right in the car owner's personal space. He set about cleaning as best he could, even as Brittany chattered a little (well, a lot, but less so than normal) randomly about Lord Tubbington. Hot Camaro Guy was looking adorably confused by this, but he seemed to believe the best tactic was to nod along and smile.

Kurt was wiping down the hood when the guy spoke again. "So, um, do you guys do this every year?"

"Yes, hence the word 'annual' on the banner," was Kurt's too snarky reply. He toned it down quickly. "But I think this is the first year the Cheerios have been involved."

"Really." He gave Kurt's uniform a cursory glance. "That seems like a missed opportunity, for those other years, I mean."

"Possibly." Kurt stepped back to let Brittany have her fun rinsing. "Nothing brings out the crowds like girls in wet shirts and short skirts. Or a guy, incidentally." He saw Puck lounging against the hood of a small two-door Honda as the driver, a teenaged girl with long blonde hair, drooled pretty obviously over him. Kurt shook his head – he just did _not _get it.

"All done – you can pay by Coach Sylvester. The lady with the megaphone," Brittany clarified.

The guy (now that Kurt was convinced of his straightness, he could look him directly in the eye – he looked like he was maybe sixteen or seventeen) smiled at her, and then at Kurt, holding his gaze. "Thanks, you guys did a great job. This is my dad's car, and this is my first time being allowed to drive it on my own."

"And you brought it to a teen-run car wash?" Kurt said with a laugh. "Brave. I guess the Cheerios lured you in too."

The guy nodded, the tips of his ears turning pink. "Uh, yeah, I suppose I can't lie about that." He stuck out a hand, "Thanks a lot –"

"Kurt."

"Kurt – I, uh, hope you have a nice summer."

"Sure, you too." The boy wandered off to pay and Kurt allowed himself one last glance before moving back to Mercedes and Quinn, Brittany pouting at him – he promised to help her with any big cars that came her way, and that seemed to placate her for the moment. Quinn and Mercedes (and Tina and Rachel) were looking at him, wide-eyed and grinning. They offered no explanation (_seriously, _what the hell was up with them?), but they did give him a gloriously cold can of diet Coke, so he forgave them immediately.

The car wash wrapped up in the early evening, and as other volunteers dealt with the majority of the clean up, the New Directions sat in the shade of the trees, enjoying the sight of others subjected to Coach Sylvester, and tallying up Puck and Santana's phone numbers.

Artie and Mike had been the chosen counters, and Artie held a hand up for silence when they finished. "Okay, can we have a drum roll please?"

Everyone immediately started one off on their thighs, grinning madly as Puck shot Santana one last smug look.

"Noah 'Puck' Puckerman received a grand total of . . . twenty one phone numbers!"

There was applause and cheering; it was a very impressive number, Kurt had to admit.

"That's right bitches – I can't be tamed, even by a skirt and pompoms!"

Santana booed and hissed, and Artie held up his hand again. "And Santana Lopez received – wait for it – twenty _nine _numbers – a clear and undisputed victory!"

"Wait, no way – that guy with the hat totally didn't –"

"E-mails count too, Puckerman, so suck it!"

"No way, that means I have like, at least ten more to throw in."

It descended into chaos as everyone debated whether the emails should count, and then Santana said she gave her number to a couple of guys _she _had liked, and they had accepted, which should _also _count. Eventually, Santana maintained her crown: e-mails included, but personal numbers given out excluded, she still beat Puck by three.

Puck, for all his posturing, turned out to be a good sport about it. "Well fine, but I think we all know that if I hadn't been handicapped by the girl clothes, I totally would have won."

Santana threw her empty water bottle at him. "Take the loss like a man, Puckerman, and be glad I don't demand payment in the way of you wearing that outfit for your first game of the season."

"No, please," Kurt cut in. "We've had enough of Puck in drag, I personally don't believe my retinas are ever going to recover."

"Shut up, Hummel, I can be just as pretty as you!"

Kurt threw his empty can of diet Coke his way from his reclined position in Mercedes' lap. Mercedes raised her own hand for silence. "Actually, I think Kurt deserves an honourable mention for that hottie in the sweet ride."

"Wait – what?" Kurt blinked up at her.

Santana whipped around to stare at him, eyes glittering. "Oh, did Hummel get some gay tail? Spill it, Mercedes!"

"Kurt, dude, high-five!" Finn stuck his out, and Kurt hit it lightly, hesitantly, totally bewildered.

"I have no idea –"

"This guy pulled up in this really nice dark red Camaro!" Tina gushed, "And he almost tripped all over himself when he got close to Kurt."

"I am fairly certain it was the sight of Kurt soaking wet and wiping down that big SUV that got him in here in the first place," Quinn added, smirking down at Kurt from her position on Mercedes' left.

"There was no tripping!" Kurt protested.

"He looked so dazed when he was driving away." Rachel was laughing, giving Kurt an encouraging smile. "You should try and find him. I hope he didn't get into an accident on the way home – you really did a number on him."

"I hate all of you," Kurt said, feeling and sounding dazed himself. "Why couldn't you have pointed this out _while he was still here?_"

"We figured it was obvious." Tina patted him on the shin. "Sorry, we forget you can be stupidly dense sometimes – you're a guy, after all."

This led to another wave of discussion, and Kurt extending an invitation his dad had insisted he make for everyone to come for yet another barbecue meal, but at his house, in his backyard. Mercedes and Quinn had already known and packed accordingly. There was agreement from everyone else too, but most had to make pit stops at home to shower and change.

"One thing's for sure," Mercedes said as she stood and then helped Kurt up. "Those pictures we took are so gonna go over great when baby Beth gets older."

Puck didn't flinch, which didn't surprise Kurt at all, considering the swagger with which the boy had been walking and talking with all day. "Yeah, she'll know how truly awesome her dad is – able to pull any and all kinds of babes, even when he's dressed like one."

"It's good to know you're so at peace with your future mocking at the hands of our daughter," Quinn said blithely, exchanging soft smiles with Puck.

It was wonderful to see them like this, and Kurt wished the best for them this coming year. He was already worrying about what would happen years down the road when Quinn went away for college, like he knew she would, or if Puck couldn't keep his good boy act together and did something stupid . . . but for now it was summer; it was the time of minimal responsibilities, with days and nights spent lounging outside with friends and family.

"Kurt, can I catch a ride with you?" Brittany asked excitedly.

"Sure, Britt."

He ignored the giggles from the other girls, and offered Brittany his arm. "Mercedes, you and the others can just catch a ride with Quinn or something. I don't need your mocking!" He glared at them, good-natured, because he'd had a good day; some guy had apparently found him _attractive. _He took that to be a sign of oncoming good fortune – maybe he wasn't the lone island of gay he thought he was. He was smiling to himself as he got into the car with Brittany.

"We've got to stop by the store and get some extra steaks and stuff for dinner, that all right?"

"Sure, Kurt," she chirped. "Whatever you need!"

He pulled away from the parking lot, humming softly to himself and picturing the meal he could help his dad create, wondering at how his summer had started so very differently from where it had ended up.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Brittany waited for Kurt while frowning to herself; she had done everything she normally did and a few things she didn't to get Kurt to make out with her, and nothing was happening. She'd made out with a lot of people – like _everyone _in school – and she could tell when someone wanted her to kiss them, which was _everyone, _all the time. Except Kurt.

She exhaled her frustration, blowing her bangs off her forehead. She was bored. Kurt had been in that grocery store too long; he'd said five minutes and it had been way longer. Maybe it had been hours and Kurt had somehow disappeared again – she should probably call everyone together, because last time had been pretty scary.

She looked around the car, not entirely sure what she was expecting to see but when nothing caught her eye, she started rooting around the inside of the SUV, starting with the glove compartment. She found road maps, a bottle of water, some papers and . . . a pair of boxers?

Brittany stared at the boxers – this had to mean something.

Once, when she'd been making out with Brian Schubert in the empty mall parking lot in his car, they'd been about to take it further when a cop knocked on the window. Brian had freaked out, yanking his shirt back on, and she'd quickly pushed her clothes back into place. Her bra had been lying across the dashboard, and he'd shoved it into the glove compartment really fast, before rolling down the window to smile at the policeman. They hadn't gotten into any trouble, and Brian been nice enough to drop her off at home and apologize for nearly getting them arrested. She'd totally forgotten about her bra in his glove compartment – but that was okay, she did that a lot, and he returned to her the next day.

_Oh, that makes sense. _She nodded to herself – Kurt totally had a girlfriend that he made out with or had sex with in his car, and he was one of those nice guys that didn't make out with more than one girl at a time. Or, wait, _hold up, what am I missing? _She stared at the boxers. _Boyfriend, he's someone's boyfriend . . . and the boxers could be his or . . . She_ shook her head. No, she needed someone else's opinion on this – Santana? Or better yet, Mercedes – she was Kurt's best friend forever, she would know if Kurt had a girlfriend or something. _Or something. Like that guy in the Camaro. Boyfriend._

Brittany looked up to see Kurt walking back to the car – she quickly grabbed her purse, shoving the boxers inside, and then shut the glove compartment.

She would go to Mercedes, explain the whole Brian thing, and then show her the boxers. The girl would tell her what was going on, if Kurt had a secret _boyfriend – _unless Mercedes was the secret girlfriend? But that didn't change anything, and maybe Mercedes would give her permission to kiss Kurt sometimes?

Brittany would totally let Mercedes make out with Kurt if he were her boyfriend – like how when Puck and Santana were dating, Puck didn't care if she and Santana made out sometimes.

"All right, Britt – you want to pick the music?" he said as he closed the door behind him.

Brittany nodded excitedly. "Totally! Hey, are we going back to your place now?"

"Yeah, Mercedes should be there with my dad, getting ready for dinner tonight. I think Quinn's mom is coming too, and Carole, of course. Artie's parents are stopping by at some point, as are Rachel's dads – you could invite your parents too, if you want." Kurt was the best guy. She was grateful for the glee club and all the people it brought into her friend circle – apparently losers weren't losers when you got to know them, and even though Rachel was a little scary, and sometimes she wondered if Mike was really Gumby in disguise because he was _way _bendy, or if Artie was part robot, she couldn't regret a single slushie she took for being friends with them. She leaned over, gave Kurt a kiss on the cheek, and he grinned sweetly (and totally strictly friend-like, she got it) at her.

Right before she lost herself to some Britney Spears, she used the memory technique her mom taught her. She'd been using it a lot this year – there was so much to keep in mind, so many new faces and names. People she really, really liked. All these new ideas and thoughts – really cool, _vital _(a word she'd picked up from Rachel) things that she was pretty sure she would remember all her life.

She really did want to talk to Mercedes about the boxers (it was pretty cool that his dad was there too – his dad would know who Kurt was dating, if Mercedes didn't) and maybe the idea of Kurt having a secret _boyfriend _(he might be gay for good now? That would be sad, but she did want Kurt to be happy and Camaro guy was cute). But she also wanted to just spend time with these geeks and cool people she considered her best friends. The boxer thing could be some fun dinner discussion.

Brittany never forgot the really important stuff.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Author's Note: **It took an insane amount of time, but it's DONE! *confetti* Yay! So many thanks and hugs given to those of you who read from the beginning – I'm sorry for being such a bad updater, but I did promise to finish, and here it is! Now I have only two other stories to get done, and they each require only one more chapter – you guys have no idea how thrilled I am by this prospect! *yet more confetti*

There is in fact, a rap song that used _It's a Hard-Knock _life as its chorus, which is called _Hard Knock Life (Ghetto Anthem), _by Jay-Z. Otherwise, _The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow _and _It's a Hard-Knock Life_ belong to those who wrote the musical _Annie._

Also, adoption is a wonderful, beautiful thing, in which many kids do not go through what Rachel went through, and do not feel the need to seek out their birth parents, or vice versa. And sometimes there are open adoptions wherein contact is permitted and pictures are sent, etc. This is one situation, highly specific and_ fictional_. I'm not trying to comment on the whole process in general, just on the crazy world of these Glee people :)

Much love all readers, new and old, and I hope you all enjoyed this!


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